


To Quote Seneca

by cowaiicrossing



Series: Quotes [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2018-12-30 04:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12100275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowaiicrossing/pseuds/cowaiicrossing
Summary: Oikawa Tooru was under the impression that it took roughly five hundred miles of water over eighty degrees Fahrenheit for a hurricane to form.Nishinoya Yuu was walking proof that five-feet-two-inches of unrestrained enthusiasm was more than enough.





	1. Luck

**Author's Note:**

> *This work contains spoilers for the ends of seasons 2 and 3*

“Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.”

. . .

Oikawa Tooru had never believed much in luck until he glimpsed Karasuno’s libero on the other side of the net.  It pissed him off.  It pissed him off the way his eyes – they were almost more amber than brown, he realized idly, as wide and piercing as a hawk’s – begged for his serves.  The way his posture changed and his tongue stuck out in concentration.  He could almost hear the libero’s thoughts, like a challenge ringing in the back of his mind.   _“Bring it to me.”_

They only needed one more point.  Oikawa tore his gaze from Nishinoya’s.  The whistle blew.   _One more point._  The toss was perfect.  He leapt, his entire body winding up, ready to unleash the force of his will – of his team’s will to get their revenge on Shiratorizawa.  Nishinoya’s knees bent; his arms quivered.  “ _Bring it_!”

Not in his head this time.  Oikawa growled as his hand connected with the volleyball, changing its course almost without thinking about it.  “Nishinoya!”

The gymnasium went silent as the volleyball slammed into the floor.  Nishinoya’s hair moved, his head just barely tilted aside.  Red flags lifted and the whistle blew.   _Out._

“Nice call,” Karasuno’s captain looked as shocked as Oikawa felt.

Nishinoya’s gaze didn’t break from Oikawa’s.  “Yeah,” he nodded vaguely.  His eyes screamed their avidity.

“Don’t mind,” Iwaizumi’s voice sounded a thousand miles away.

 _If luck is real,_ Oikawa told himself silently as he turned to flash his team an apologetic smile, _then that was it._

. . .

“Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity,” Oikawa found himself quoting Seneca under his breath.

“I thought you didn’t believe in luck.”  Iwaizumi braved a glance in his direction, but Oikawa’s rich brown gaze never left the match unfolding before them.

He clicked his tongue.  “I don’t.”  Another blistering spike ricocheted off of Nishinoya’s arms, the impact rocking him back onto his heels.  “But how else are these brats going to beat Shiratorizawa?”

One eyebrow arched up.  “What happened to wanting both teams to lose…?”

“That hasn’t changed,” Oikawa knew his defense was lame, and that his childhood friend saw right through it, but it was all he had.  He adjusted his glasses and sank lower into his seat.  Kurasuno’s back line screamed for the server to bring it.  “But I wouldn’t miss the chance to see Ushijima’s face when Nishinoya receives his spike if you paid me.”

“You think he will?”  Iwaizumi’s brow furrowed as Kurasuno’s four-eyes one-touched another spike.

Oikawa tried to summon a snide comment, but the mirthless truth rolled off his tongue instead.  “If given the opportunity.”

“You didn’t intend to serve to him, did you?”

Oikawa’s lips curved into a bitter smile.  “How did you know?”  It was a rhetorical question, and for the time being, Iwaizumi let the words hang taut between them.  Finally, Oikawa laughed.  “It doesn’t matter now,” he waved his hand dismissively and turned his attention back to the match.  His eyes narrowed and his smile faded as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

 _Again._  Oikawa closed his eyes a blew out a deep breath.  He wanted to meet Nishinoya again, to be challenged by those eyes.   _I want to serve to him again._

Even if impossible, Oikawa set his goal with the same certainty used when tossing to Iwaizumi, and that desire only intensified as the libero fought the fatigue of the five-set match.   _And when I do, I will be prepared._

. . .

As quickly as he tried to leave the gymnasium after the match had ended, Oikawa still managed to overhear the awards ceremony.  Iwaizumi had this look of grudging respect about him the whole time – it made Oikawa want to barf.  Or hit him.  He chose the latter.

“Stop making that face, Iwa-chan.”  He opened his mouth to make a jibe, but a flash of orange caught his eyes, and his words were snatched from his tongue.  Kurasuno was exiting the gym, each team member connected to another in some way, whether it be leaning on them for support, punching each other playfully, or – in Nishinoya’s case – being carried on the shoulders of Kurasuno’s ace, Asahi.  He was laughing about something, his eyes sparkling.  Oikawa couldn’t help but to notice the bruises already forming on the libero’s calves; no doubt his muscles were stressed beyond use.

“Stop glaring, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi slapped his hand firmly between Oikawa’s shoulder blades.  “Unless you _want_ to draw their attention.”

“Of course not,” Oikawa bristled and turned away.  “Let’s go.”

He’d hardly taken a step when the hair along the back of his neck prickled, a decided chill jittering down his spine.  He knew at once who had seen them.  With a resigned sigh, he tossed a glance over his shoulder, meeting Nishinoya’s luminous gaze.   The libero practically beamed at him, lifting the medal around his neck to let it catch the lamp light.  His mouth moved, and even without his glasses Oikawa would have been able to read the words that danced along his lips.

_"Bring it.”_

. . .

 Oikawa’s breath escaped his chest in a violent huff as his hand made contact with the volleyball.  The force of his entire body seemed to rocket out of him and into the ball.  It slammed into the earth with a satisfying sound, though the crack of his knee really took away from the feel of the moment.

“Damn,” Oikawa jumped up and down in place, clenching his teeth as the ache that lingered in his leg.  At least, he reasoned as he went to retrieve his ball, the weather was warming.  Not much - but winter’s clutch had definitely loosened.  There were a million other things he could have been doing at the time, namely studying, but the setter didn’t have it in him to go more than a day without touching a volleyball.  He turned to face the outdoor net again, clearing his mind.  There was little wind, and he smirked when his toss soared up perfectly.  He threw himself into the serve as if his life depended on it; as if the feel of the ball in the palm of his hand in that moment was synonymous to breathing, his pulse defined by the burn left behind from repeated impacts.

But his next breath - the one that should have been formed by the ball striking the ground - never came.  Instead it caught in his chest like a bird in a cage as the volleyball fell harmlessly back to Oikawa’s side of the net.

 _Recieved?!_  He staggered through his landing, opening and closing his mouth rather dumbly as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.  Across the net, lunged to one side with impeccable balance, was Nishinoya.  His cheeks puffed as he exhaled, then quirked into a triumphant grin.

“Nishinoya,” Oikawa sighed, he wasn’t sure what else to do, so he opted for retrieving the nearly-forgotten volleyball.  “Shouldn’t you be with your team, preparing for the tournament in Tokyo?”  The setter couldn’t decide how he felt about Kurasuno’s libero appearing before him at such a time.

Nishinoya shrugged.  “We’re having free training right now.  It worked so well for us before that Coach Ukai decided to give us a full day every week for it.”

Oikawa’s eyebrow twitched.  “So why are you here?”  Without really thinking about it, he tossed the ball, launching into a full-force serve.  Nishinoya’s eyes flashed and he dove to the side, catching the serve solidly with his left forearm and sending straight to the place Kageyama would have been standing.  “I saw your double receive against Ushijima.  It was impressive, but sloppy.”

“Your serves.”

“Ha?”  Oikawa’s eyebrow quirked into a bewildered expression.  “What of them?”

Nishinoya’s gaze darted away and back.  He lifted one bruised arm and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.  “I can’t stop thinking about your serves.”  An honesty so blatant and sincere had painted itself across Nishinoya’s face.  It lowered Oikawa guard as much as it made him uneasy.

“I’m flattered, really,” Oikawa retreated, letting his ugly side rear its head.  “But serves should be last thing on your mind.  If you can’t figure out accurate block-follows your team will never make it against the big boys in Tokyo.”  The smirk growing on his face faltered when Nishinoya only nodded.

“I know.  But Asahi is taking a break and Shou-kun doesn’t want to practice being blocked.”  The libero picked up the ball and tossed it easily over the net.  “What about you, Oikawa, why are you here?”

Instead of answering, Oikawa sent another jump-serve plummeting over the net.  Nishinoya got the hint, dropping conversation in favor of returning Oikawa’s monstrous serve.  He rolled out of this one, letting his momentum carry him easily to his feet and into a ready position.  His eyes, a subtle umber in the late afternoon light, irked Oikawa.  His very being there made the setter itch.   _Again._  He ground his teeth.  Nishinoya let out an exhilarated shout.

“One more!”

. . .

Oikawa couldn’t say exactly how or when it had happened, but the time that used to be _his_ \- practicing serves on some forgotten outdoor volleyball court - suddenly became time he shared with one loud, five-foot-two Nishinoya Yuu.  The part that really made Oikawa tick was that he couldn’t bring himself to be truly angry about it.  Kurasuno’s libero was nothing short of a genius, and while that fact alone should have made him hate Nishinoya’s guts, he found it was refreshing to practice with someone new; someone that could return his receives almost effortlessly.

As an added bonus, Nishinoya didn’t call him “Shittykawa.”

Oikawa couldn’t help but to feel that maybe this was some kind of sign, but opportunities aside, he was beginning to feel that no one could really - truly - be prepared for anything that involved Nishinoya.

. . .

 Some days they didn’t speak, others Nishinoya babbled nonstop, mostly about the upcoming tournaments, about Hinata’s growth as a player and how he was going to make sure the third years could go into their final matches without fear.  He would never say so aloud, but Oikawa didn’t think the libero gave himself enough credit.  If only they could have been on the same side of the net.  If only he’d had the opportunity to bring out the best in Nishinoya as he’d brought it out of his own teammates.  It wasn’t until Nishinoya brought it up that Oikawa realized that such a baseless line of thought wasn’t nearly as improbable as he thought.

“Tooru.”

Oikawa clicked his tongue and bounced the ball once or twice.  When did Nishinoya start calling him by his given name so easily?  He leaned tauntingly on the younger boy’s name as he answered in a sing-song tone, “Yuu-chan.”

“Which university are you going to?”

Oikawa snorted, choking on the breath he’d been taking.  “Why?”  He snickered, “So you can follow me there?”  He mind spun.  His setting?  With Nishinoya behind him?

Laughter erupted from the other side of the net.  Nishinoya clutched his sides as his outburst faded to chuckles.  “In your dreams, Tooru.  Like I would give up the chance to receive your serves in a match again.”  He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye with notable flourish.  “I just figured you were training so hard because of a scholarship.  People may not consider you a genius in the sense that they consider Tobio, but I think you’re more talented than plenty of other setters.  There’s got to be a ton of universities after you.”

Oikawa shrugged.  “Maybe so.  It’s not really your business anyway, Yuu-chan.”  He meant to name as an insult, but the more he said it, the better it felt rolling off of his tongue, and the more he realized that Nishinoya didn’t seem to care at all.

“Fine, fine,” he ran his hands up the sides of his hair, smoothing strands that had gone awry throughout their practice.  “What are you waiting for?”  He sank back into position.  Oikawa turned around.

“You have a tournament soon,” he glanced back sharply at Nishinoya.  “And I need to rest my knee.  It’s time you used your individual training day to better your team instead of receiving my serves.”

Nishinoya blinked blankly after him as Oikawa started walking away.  With an exasperated sigh, Oikawa turned back to the bemused libero.  “Are you coming, Yuu-chan?  I thought you’d be excited to practice block-follows.”

Nishinoya’s teeth flashed in an ardent grin.  “Bring it.”

. . .

 Oikawa checked his phone absentmindedly.  He couldn’t help but to snicker when he saw the message that awaited him.

_So they’ll be playing against Nekoma after all.  Good for them._

The setter froze, gagging on the bad taste that rose on the back of his tongue.   _I’m getting soft in my old age._  He didn’t quite remember when it was Nishinoya had put his information in his phone, only that the snarky ass had put it under “Yuu-chan” and followed the name with countless emoticons.  He had a feeling that his own contact information would be in Nishinoya’s phone as “Tooru.”

Oikawa tutted under his breath and answered quickly before slipping his phone back into his pocket before the teacher turned around.  Iwaizumi frowned curiously at him, and Oikawa stuck his tongue out and held up a peace sign.   _What else can I do?  Tell him that I’ve been texting Kurasuno’s libero almost nonstop since that sorry team left for nationals?  He’d think I’d been abducted by aliens._  Oikawa pursed his lips.  Maybe he had.  It made sense the more he thought about it - since when did he wish people luck, anyway?

. . .

**From: Yuu-chan  
** **You’re coming to the game, right?**

 

Oikawa sighed.  He nearly didn’t answer, but his phone buzzed again.

 

**From: Yuu-chan  
** **You’ll be sorry if you don’t.**

 

 _Will I?_  Oikawa wanted to test the libero, play with his temper.  He let his lips quirk into a smile and sent back a simple, ‘I’ll think about it.’  As if he had already caught onto Oikawa’s game, Nishonoya answered quickly.

 

**From: Yuu-chan  
** **I’ll see you there.**

 

**From: Yuu-chan  
** **Don’t tell me where you sit, I’ll find you.**

 

**From: Yuu-chan  
** **And when I perfectly receive the first serve, I’ll hit your victory pose.**

 

**From: Yuu-chan  
** **And look ten times better than you doing it, too!!!**

 

Oikawa muffled his chuckling with his hand.  He was supposed to be watching Aoba Johsai’s practice, giving them final words of wisdom.  But he could hardly focus on anything when he could tell how fired up Nishinoya was getting.  

“Oikawa-senpai,” one of the second years whined for his attention.  “Did you even see that jump-serve?”

“Sorry, sorry!”  Oikawa stood quickly from the bench and offered an apologetic smile.  “I’ll watch this one, so please, try it again.”  He glanced down at his phone with a playful glint in his chocolate eyes.

 

**To: Yuu-chan  
** **Sa koi**

. . .

 Oikawa pressed his lips into a thin line.  To think, after all of the time he’d spent with a fan club of girls following him around, that _this_ was the time he wasn’t sure what to wear.   _For the love of God._  The setter threw his hands up helplessly.  “It’s just a volleyball game, Shittykawa,” he raked his fingers through his hair.  “Pull yourself together.”

Oikawa blanched.  “And now I sound like Iwa-chan!”  Groaning inwardly he pulled on his knee brace and the first set of clothes his hand came into contact with.  Fortunately none of the colors clashed, and his glasses completed his “I definitely wasn't trying to look this good” look perfectly.   _I've got to get going._  The setter paused at the door, his hand hovering over his Aoba Johsai Volleyball jacket, but with a tut under his breath Oikawa reached for something less flashy.  It wouldn't be any fun at all if he made it _easy_ for Nishinoya to spot him.

The thought seemed to trip up his pulse, and his heart stuttered in his chest.   _Am I… looking forward to this?_  Oikawa banished the thought instantly.  He shoved his hands in his pockets and shut the door firmly behind him.  It was too early in the morning for him to be so confused, and he had a long train ride ahead of him.  He almost regretted not telling Iwaizumi that he would be going.  The sudden chirp of his text tone wiped that remorse instantly from his mind.

 

**From: Yuu-chan  
** **The match starts at 3!!**

 

Did Nishinoya ever get tired of using exclamation points?  Oikawa doubted it.  It would be stranger, he decided, if Nishinoya _didn’t_ text the exact same way he spoke.  Boarding the train, Oikawa elected not to answer.  He only sighed when his phone went off again.

 

**From: Yuu-chan  
** **Don’t ignore me!  I know that you’re coming!**

 

Oikawa clicked his tongue and pressed a few quick keys.

 

**To: Yuu-chan  
** **Focus, moron.**

 

Phone in pocket - and on silent - Oikawa was left to grumble quietly to himself.  Kurasuno’s pint-sized libero would be the end of him, and there was no way of telling when the final blow would come.   _Who is it, really, that’s the moron, Shittykawa?_

. . .

 Despite himself, Oikawa let out a low whistle as he approached the massive gymnasium the final match would be held in.  It was impressive, that was for sure.  And the only thing more impressive than the outside was what lay behind the automatically opening doors.  He checked his phone - just for the time, he told himself repeatedly, _not_ to make sure he hadn’t missed a text.  It was only two, but the place seemed packed.  All around he could hear people gossiping.

“Who would have thought…”

“...Kurasuno took their prefecture by storm, especially…”

“Even Aoba Johsai couldn’t defeat Shiratorizawa!”

“And that little one…”   _Could they…_  “Their number ten!  I heard he can _fly_.”

Oikawa let his palm hit his forehead.   _You dolt, who are you to get worked up over whether or not they’re talking about Nishinoya?!_  Flustered and wary of drawing attention to himself, Oikawa started for the stairs.  He had an important decision to make, after all, and only an hour to do so.

_Where the hell am I going to sit?!_

He had never really see the teams from Tokyo; he assumed they would be good - extremely so - as they had, in a way, contributed to how quickly Kurasuno had grown as a team.  That said, he couldn’t decide which side of the court he wanted to be on.  It wasn’t like he came to cheer; he’d be damned before he uttered a peep one way or the other.   _I really do have crappy character, don’t I?_

He settled on the one with the Kurasuno students.  Partially because he figured it would be last place Nishinoya would look and partially because Nekoma’s side was almost overwhelmingly packed.  They were already cheering, though there were still forty minutes until the match was supposed to start.

 _They’ll be coming out soon._  Oikawa settled a safe distance from the rest of the crowds, upper level, right on the railing.  For now, he propped his feet on it.  He wasn’t particularly interested in warmups.

“Well, well, Trashykawa.  You sure are full of surprises.”

Oikawa jolted, his feet dropping to the ground.  “Iwa-chan?!”

“Like I would ever believe you to be studying.”  His childhood friend snorted to emphasize his point.  “Please, Oikawa.  Have a little less faith in your half-assed lies.”

“Ah.” Oikawa sighed.  “I never could keep anything from you.”

Iwaizumi sat beside him.  Cheers erupted from both sides as the teams entered the court.  Both teams were all smiles and full-throttle energy.  There was no hint of nervousness, no hesitation as they sprang into warmups.  Lightning sparked between them when the whistle blew for them to line up.  Their captains shook hands.  Oikawa didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Iwaizumi’s palm collided with his back.

“What are you getting so tense…”

“Receive.”  Oikawa leaned forward.  “Nekoma is going to serve,” his eyes followed the signs the referees were making, “Kurasuno is going to receive.”  He had muttered it all under his breath, but the knowing glint in Iwaizumi’s eyes told the setter his friend had made out every word.

“Is that good?”

Nekoma’s captain (Kuroo, Oikawa remembered vaguely) took the ball, preparing to serve.  Nishinoya’s tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth.  His entire being shook, trembling in anticipation.  Though he couldn’t hear it, Oikawa could almost feel the whisper that tumbled from the libero’s lips; over and over, a mantra - a challenge - a promise.

_“Koi.”_

The whistle blew and the ball went up.  A jump serve, one that held height and power greater than Oikawa’s own.  A streak of orange shot across the court.  The entire gymnasium seemed to suck in its breath as Nishinoya lunged, his cheeks puffing out with the force of the breath leaving his body as the volleyball slammed into his forearms.  The sound went through Oikawa’s ears almost as clearly as a gunshot, and then the ball was up, falling easily into Kageyama’s wicked fingers.  Hinata jumped - no, Oikawa grit his teeth, the brat really did fly - striking the ball home just inside Nekoma’s side of the net.  The crowd roared, and the energy set Oikawa’s blood on fire.  He gripped the rail so tightly his knuckles paled.

 _So that’s how it is._  Oikawa wanted to leave.  He didn’t want to see this; he didn’t want to watch his former junior secure the victory he had always dreamed of.  But Iwaizumi dipped his chin, and Oikawa made the mistake of following the motion.  Nishinoya was airborne, screaming at the top of his lungs alongside Tanaka.  But as he came down he spun on his heel, his eyes catching Oikawa’s as if he had known the setter would be _right there_ all along.  With a playful smirk and a massively over-exaggerated amount of embellishment, Nishinoya pretended to flick his hair out of his eyes, tossing his head and throwing up a peace sign while sticking his tongue out.  To top it off, he dropped a flirtatious wink before doubling over in a fit of laughter that Oikawa could hear even over the tumultuous uproar from Kurasuno’s supporters.

Unable to fight it back, it was all Oikawa could do to muffle his snickering in his hand.  Iwaizumi tilted his head, his forehead creased.  As Oikawa’s laughter got swallowed back in favor of focusing on the game, his brow smoothed, a knowing look gracing his features.  “Ah.”  He turned his own gaze to the fiery libero standing towards the back of the court.  “So that’s how it is.”

. . .

 “Damn it.”  Oikawa bit his bottom lip harshly.  He had long since lost feeling his fingertips, clenched as they were around the rail before him.  “Nekoma’s setter…”  He shook his head helplessly.  He didn’t look like much, but the talent he possessed wasn’t all that different from his own - though his style was far less flashy.  Iwaizumi only hummed quietly in response.

Both teams held two sets.  Both teams were tiring.  But Kuroo was still smirking, and Daichi was not.

“One more!”  Nishinoya’s voice broke, hoarse from screaming.

The deuce had gone on for what felt like an eternity.  More so than their match with Shiratorizawa, the fatigue was wearing Kurasuno thin.  Hinata pummeled his legs with his fists, echoing his senpai’s encouragement.

“Tch…!”  Oikawa’s chest hurt.  Nekoma needed only one more point, and Kuroo was serving.   _Do you even have one more in you?!_  His teeth ground together.   _Yuu-chan…!_  He remembered this moment in his own match against them.  He remembered the draw of Nishinoya’s eyes and the incredible desire to overpower him.  He remembered and he saw it in Kuroo.  The ball went up.

Nishinoya moved.  He was somehow moving too quickly and too slowly all at once.  He looked like he would make it, he looked like he would never reach.  He twisted, directly into position, his arms quivering and ready to embrace the impact that awaited them.

“ _Nishinoya_ !”  Oikawa lurched to his feet.  Only Iwaizumi’s grasp on the back of his hoodie stopped him from toppling over the railing.  He _knew_ \- he saw it, he felt it.  Nishinoya dropped, one eye scrunching shut as a pained cry ripped from his throat.  The ball glanced off his arms.  Tanaka and Asahi launched after it, but it was far too late.  The stadium exploded into cheers and the scoreboard changed to show Nekoma’s winning score: 40-38.

“His knee,” Oikawa choked out.  “When he turned…”

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes.  “I saw it, too.”  He opened his mouth again, but Oikawa had shrugged out of his grip, his fists balled at his sides.  It didn’t take a genius or a childhood friend to see that he wouldn’t hear anything Iwaizumi had to say.

“His knee…”  Oikawa repeated.  Helpless fury bubbled in his veins, white hot and unrelenting.  Kurasuno gathered quickly around their fallen teammate.  Nishinoya tried to stand, but he crumpled almost immediately back against Asahi’s chest, his cheeks puffing in a mixture of pain and frustration.  A doctor ran out onto the court and the gymnasium fell silent.

Kuroo, sweaty and wide eyed, ducked under the net and jogged to Kurasuno’s gathered team.  Nekoma’s setter followed, his expression sympathetic.  Oikawa couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could assume.  Kuroo was apologizing, Nishinoya was laughing it off.  The doctor was trying to get the libero to sit still long enough for him to get a proper assessment.

“What was that you said once,” Iwaizumi wondered idly, knowing he wasn’t likely to get a response, “about preparation and opportunity?”

Oikawa closed his eyes, willing his hands to stop shaking.  “Luck,” he rasped bitterly.  A caustic grin bit at the corners of his lips.  “I never did believe in it anyway.”

. . .

 And again, Oikawa couldn’t escape the sound of the awards ceremony.  He wished he’d thought to bring headphones.

“Go on ahead,” Oikawa raked his fingers through his hair.  “I’ve got to piss.”

A blind man could have seen the dark mood that hund over Oikawa’s head.  Iwaizumi sighed silently.  “Don’t get kidnapped by any girls,” his warning fell flat against Oikawa’s retreating back.  Oikawa found the bathroom furthest from the commotion.  He was looking forward to just one moment of calm; one second to be alone with his thoughts, where he could retreat and put his mask back on.  He never expected someone else to have the same idea.  And he certainly never would have imagined that person would be Nishinoya.

Oikawa froze in the doorway, letting the door swing shut behind him.  Nishinoya didn’t seem to notice, his head was stuck under one of the sink faucets, the water running through his hair and down the back of his neck as he leaned heavily on the counter before him.  Two crutches lay discarded by his right foot, which was planted firmly on the ground.  His left leg, however, was wrapped in a tight splint.

Six agonizingly long heartbeats later, the libero lifted his head.  His hair, soaked through, fell from its wild style.  Had the time and place been a little different, Oikawa could have laughed at how much shorter it made him.  But his eyes were red, his bottom lip worried between his teeth.  Almost at once, his eyes caught Oikawa’s in the mirror, widening first in shock, then horror.

“O-Oikawa.”  He dropped his gaze to the sink again.  “Aha, you surprised me.”

Despite himself, Oikawa let a bitter smile overtake his lips.  “Yuu-chan,” he sighed, “you don’t have to put that face on for me.”  He strolled closer and put a hand on the younger teen’s shoulder.  “I-”

His voice failed him when Nishinoya whipped around, slapping Oikawa’s hand away as if the touch was poisonous.  “Don’t!”  His voice was hardly more than a croak.  “I…”  He shook his head, then growled under his breath.

Oikawa tilted his head, one eyebrow arching.  “So this is it, then?”

Nishinoya glared from beneath his bangs.  “What?”

“You’ve already given up.  If this is all it takes to shut you up, then you can forget ever receiving one of my serves again.”  Oikawa felt a snarl building in his throat.  “ _Sa koi_ ,” he taunted.  “Bring it, bring it to me!”

“Tooru, you…!”

“Why am I here, Yuu-chan?”  For the first time, he felt the nickname acted as the insult it was meant to be all along.  For a long moment, Oikawa began to think he had gone too far.  Nishinoya balled his fists.

“I just…”  The libero sucked in a painful breath.  Oikawa could hear it scrape down his raw throat.  Tears started escaping, one by one.

“I’ll come again,” Oikawa frowned, feigning disinterest.  “And I want to see you try that victory pose again, except next time, save it for when you _win_.”

Nishinoya swallowed hard.  Like a hurricane, he was always moving, always changing.  He brought awe and destruction in his wake, and like any powerful force of nature, there was no preparing for it.  There was only waiting; watching.  “Yuu-chan…”  Oikawa shifted his weight uncertainly.  Before he could process the motion, Nishinoya’s fingers had fisted the front of his shirt, dragging him down to a level where Nishinoya could almost stare directly into his eyes.  Oikawa didn’t have time to think, he could only admire the force of the storm that seized him.

Nishinoya’s lips crashed into his, a tidal surge of emotion followed the action, freezing Oikawa in place as lightning sparked between them.

 _How could anyone be prepared for this?_  Oikawa’s heart stammered, then nearly slammed out of his chest.  He couldn’t have, not in a millions years.  But he saw the opportunity floating like a chance ball above his head.   _Then this…_  Nishinoya’s breath caught sharply, as if he had just realized what he’d done.  He started to step back, but Oikawa’s hand flew to the back of his neck with the blinding reflexes only a setter like him could have, curling into his damp hair and tilting his head back so he could take control of the next kiss, and the one after that.

It wasn’t until Nishinoya’s chest was heaving that Oikawa relented his hold, parting from the libero with a lopsided grin and eyes that promised the refrain would be short-lived.  Breathlessly, he laughed.  Nishinoya joined him, his tears forgotten in favor of the static that seemed to spark between them, lighting each and every one of their nerve endings.

“Lucky,” the word was uttered under Nishinoya’s breath, as if a close serve had just been called ‘out.’

Oikawa tutted under his breath.  “Hardly.”  He dipped his head and claimed Nishinoya’s lips again.  So what if it was luck - he would believe in just about anything if it meant prolonging the time he could hold onto the libero in front of him.  But Nishinoya stepped back unsteadily.

“Tanaka and Shouyo will be looking for me,” he admitted almost sheepishly.  “I should…”

“Go on then, Yuu-chan,” Oikawa bent past him and snagged the crutches off of the tile floor.  He tucked them helpfully beneath Nishinoya’s arms, unable to resist tasting his lips one last time.  “If the pain gets to be too much, just let me know.  I’ll come kiss it all better.”

Color returned to Nishinoya’s cheeks as he snorted and landed a half-hearted punch against Oikawa’s ribs.  Neither of them heard the door open, and only Oikawa caught sight of Kurasuno’s ace in the mirror as his mouth gaped open.  He ducked out as quickly as he had come, and Oikawa narrowed his eyes.

“Tooru, you’re in the way,” Nishinoya drew his attention again, and Oikawa schooled his features back into a playful smile.

“Ah, sorry, Yuu-chan.”  He stepped aside, his hand ghosting across Nishinoya’s back as he held the door open for the struggling libero.  Asahi turned, plastering on a look of surprise so fake it almost made Oikawa feel bad.  He didn’t linger on the feeling.  Instead he bent again, lowering his voice to a murmur meant for Nishinoya’s ears alone.  “Seriously,” he cooed, “If you need me, text me, Yuu-chan.”

“Thank you, Tooru.”  Nishinoya moved away, and Oikawa straightened, meeting Asahi’s gaze directly over the libero’s head.  He goaded him on silently, daring him with his eyes to say something - to try to reverse what he’d witnessed in the bathroom.  But Asahi turned away, patting Nishinoya’s shoulder awkwardly.

 _Luck,_ Oikawa smirked as he watched them leave, his eyes trained to Nishinoya’s retreating figure.  His fingers still burned from the contact with Nishinoya’s hair, his lips ached for another touch, another taste.   _If luck is truly what this is, then it seems you’re out, Ace-kun._

. . .

 “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”


	2. Beginnings

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end”

 

. . .

 

He had no idea when it had happened and even less of a clue why, but Nishinoya wasn’t blind - Asahi was avoiding him.  The anxious ace had hardly said more than ten words to him since they’d returned from nationals, and it was really beginning to piss him off.  It would have been one thing if it had been like usual, where Asahi was doubting his own worth and Nishinoya only needed to beat some encouragement into his senpai.  It would have been another if he could even at least take out his frustration on the volleyball court, but…

Nishinoya shot his knee a dirty look.  It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, according the doctor he’d seen.  But that didn’t make watching his teammates train without him any easier.  The third years kept him company, working on University applications and calling encouragement and critiques to the team as they worked.

Nishinoya jumped up as a serve glanced off of Hinata’s elbow.  “Almost!”  He put his hands together in a mimic of his ready position.  “Give a little, to catch the momentum!”

Shouyo nodded energetically and spun back to Kageyama.  “One more!”

Noya could feel Asahi’s sidelong glance, but the older teen looked away quickly when he turned his head.  Unable to do much else, Noya puffed out a sigh and sat back down, pulling out his phone.

 

**To: Tooru  
** **I think Asahi is avoiding me.  The fuck?**

 

He didn’t expect a quick answer.  Oikawa did, after all, have a lot of scholarship interviews to attend.  But his phone went off again almost instantly.

 

**From: Tooru  
** **Moron**

 

Noya’s eyebrow twitched.   _ What did you honestly expect? _  He started typing again, his tongue poking out.

 

**To: Tooru  
** **You’re the moron, moron!  I’m trying to be serious!**

 

The answer came almost instantly again.  Nishinoya rolled his eyes and opened the message.  He was caught off guard by the contents, his pulse stuttering unsteadily and his cheeks catching the slightest of pink stains.

 

**From: Tooru  
** **Yuu-chan~  You’re cute when you’re serious.  It makes me want to kiss you again.**

 

“Who are you texting that’s got you so quiet?”

Noya nearly jumped out of his skin, almost dropping his phone in his hurry to lock the screen and shove it back in his pocket.  “Ah, D-Daichi!”  The libero rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.  “It’s no one.”

Daichi’s eyebrow arched, and he exchanged a skeptical glance with Suga.  The silver-haired teen smiled sweetly.   _ At least, _ Noya offered an apologetic grin,  _ it would be sweet if I couldn’t sense the malice coming off of him…! _

“Could it be,” Suga drawled innocently, “That our Noya-kun has found a girl to text?”

“I haven’t!”  Noya shook his head.   _ It’s not a lie, technically. _

Daichi smirked.  “That wasn’t convincing at  _ all _ , Noya.  Spill: is it one of the cute girls that works at your physical therapy place?”

“I keep telling you…”

Suga chimed in helpfully, “Or maybe you’ve got your new manager in your sights.”

Noya knew he wouldn’t get a word in edgewise, it was a lost cause when the two of them got started.  He flashed Asahi a pleading glance, but the ace was staring intently at the application before him.  Finally it struck him, and Noya’s jaw went slack.

_ I thought Asahi said he wasn’t going to college? _

. . .

“So?”  Oikawa’s expression was nothing short of unimpressed.  Noya threw the volleyball back at the setter with more force than necessary.

“I’m worried about him, you asshole.”

He couldn’t receive Oikawa’s serves for another few weeks, so he sat just in front of the net, letting Oikawa practice the timing and placement of his tosses.  Oikawa tucked the ball under his arm, coming to squat in front of Noya with a sigh.

“Yuu-chan,” his voice was softer, teasing.  “I wish you wouldn’t think so hard.  You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Before the setter could catch on, Noya kicked his good leg out, taking Oikawa by surprised and easily sending him sprawling backwards.  Oikawa sat up with a wicked grin.  “Why you…”

Nishinoya couldn’t help but to laugh - Oikawa’s perfect hair was disheveled, decorated by a couple of stray leaves.  He looked ridiculous.  Distracted, Noya didn’t see the setter’s hand until it had already wrapped around the ankle of his good leg.  “Tooru, n-”

“Too late.”  Oikawa smirked and tugged the libero’s leg, rocking his own weight forward and easily pushing Nishinoya down beneath him.  Noya’s breath caught in his throat, his heart failing him as Oikawa leaned over him.  “Now tell me, Yuu-chan… what exactly was so funny?”  Instead of answering, Noya smirked.  He fisted his hand in the front of Oikawa’s shirt, dragging him down to meet him halfway.  Their lips met like a wave breaking against the shoreline, sending a shudder through Noya’s entire body.  Oikawa’s hand was on the back of his neck, his fingers massaging the tense muscles there.

Emboldened by the pleasant sensation, Noya took the initiative, letting his tongue flick out across Oikawa’a bottom lip.  The setter chuckled against Noya’s lips, “Yuu-chan… You’re too impatient.”  He sat back a little, and the afternoon sunlight danced with the warmth in his eyes.

_ Raspberry chocolate. _  Noya decided with a triumphant grin.  Oikawa’s eyes were a rich brown, with just the slightest touch of pink in them.  “You’ve got something in your hair, Tooru,” Noya snickered, reaching up and pulling a stray leaf from from Oikawa’s hair.  Oikawa clicked his tongue and pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair to remove any other debris that might be clinging to his silken locks.

“Let Asahi be for now,” Oikawa offered a hand as he spoke, a knowing glint in his eyes.  “I’m sure he’s just busy.”

“Maybe.”  Noya took his hand grudgingly.  Something wasn’t sitting right in his chest.  There was something missing in the equation, but for the life of him Nishinoya couldn’t put his finger on what that might be.  It was even harder to think with Oikawa’s eyes raking his form curiously.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way, Yuu-chan?”

“What?”  Noya blinked dumbly.  Oikawa tapped his own leg.  The libero followed the motion to the white knee support that sat snugly beneath his thigh.

“You’ll never be able to receive my serves if you skip therapy, right?”

“Shit!”

. . .

“I’m  _ back _ !”  Nishinoya erupted into the gymnasium with a jump that could have rivaled Hinata’s.

Tanaka took a serve to the face, rolling back and right back onto his feet.  “Noya!!”

“Noya!”  Hinata hit him like a bullet train, his arms and legs wrapping around his neck and waist.

“That’s Noya-senpai,” He flashed a winning smirk and a thumbs up.

“Noya-senpai!”  The orange-haired teen was practically crying.  The third years were laughing quietly from the bench as Noya was mobbed by the team.

“Just in time,” Coach Ukai frowned.  “These guys can’t get anything done without you out here screaming your head off.”

“Does your knee hurt?”  Yamaguchi’s eyes trailed curiously to the obtrusive brace secured around his knee.

Noya barked out a laugh.  “Nah,” he waved his hand dismissively.  “Not at all.”   _ For the most part, anyway. _  “I’m back to one hundred and twenty percent!”  His eyes trailed back to the third years.  There was something wistful about them.   _ Could this be… _

“Alright, alright.  It’s time, then.”  Coach Ukai summoned them to him with a blow of the whistle.  “Today is the third years’ last day.”

Noya sucked in a sharp breath.  Where had the time gone?  He sought out Asahi’s eyes, but they were downcast.  “No way…”

“They’ve all been accepted into the colleges of their choosing,” Ukai went on.  Noya could hardly hear him.  “It’s a new beginning for them, and a new beginning for Kurasuno.  There’s no telling where our paths will take us from here, but…”

Daichi stepped forward, cutting their coach off.  “But no matter where we may go, we’ll all be with you on the court.  Always.”

“And there’s not a thing in the world that could stop us from coming to see you in tournament,” Suga added.  “We’ll all be there, cheering you on every step of the way.”

Hugs were given, tears shed.  And for the first time since their loss at at nationals, Asahi met Noya’s wide-eyed gaze.  His hand clapped down on the libero’s shoulder.

“Nishinoya,” he offered a half smile.  “Be careful.”

Something tickled the back of Noya’s mind, like a familiar taste he couldn’t name, or a word he could remember only the last two letters of.  And just like those things, with time, it was forgotten, leaving only the lingering feeling that something had gone right over his head.

. . .

**To: Tooru  
** **Our first match is tomorrow!!**

 

Nishinoya wasn’t sure why he felt the need to tell Oikawa again; he’d certainly already mentioned it.  But he had a victory pose to practice, and it just wouldn’t be the same if Tooru wasn’t there to judge it.

 

**From: Tooru  
** **Pass**

 

**From: Tooru  
** **I have to study**

 

Noya tutted under his breath.

 

**To: Tooru  
** **Bullshit.  You’re coming!**

 

He let his phone fall next to his pillow, turning onto his side and trying to imagine sleep overtaking his hyperactive mind.  But he was too excited.  Kurasuno had only improved - he was certain Oikawa wouldn’t even recognize the team if he saw them.  Kageyama and Hinata were as dangerous as they’d ever been, and Tsukishima was whipping one of the first years into a brilliant blocker.   _ Nekoma doesn’t stand a chance…! _

Noya dozed for a while, but the sleep was light and easily broken by the buzz of his phone.

 

**From: Tooru  
** **Are you awake?**

 

Noya blinked blearily at the device and snickered under his breath.

 

**To: Tooru  
** **No**

 

**From: Tooru  
** **Smartass.  Come to the court, I have something for you.**

 

As much as he wanted to say no and try in earnest to get some sleep, Noya’s curiosity was peaked.  He would never be able to sleep if he didn’t know what it might be Oikawa wanted to give him.   _ This better not be something stupid, Tooru… _

It was a mild evening with autumn right around the corner.  Not many people were out and about, and it was easy enough for Noya to jog undisturbed to the outdoor court he and Oikawa frequented.  He wasn’t surprised to see that Oikawa was already there, volleyball in hand.  Noya put on speed.  He could see the ball go up, the running start.  He dove as Oikawa’s palm struck the ball, rolling with the momentum and letting out a satisfied yell as the ball bounced off of his forearms and safely to the imaginary setter on his side of the net.

Oikawa sighed, his hand falling to his hip and his head cocking to the side.  “And here I thought that injury might slow you down.”

“Me?  Slow down?”  Noya stood, jabbing his thumb towards his own chest.  “I wouldn’t be Kurasuno’s Guardian Deity if I did.”

“No, I suppose not,” Oikawa rolled his eyes.  He caught Nishinoya’s toss easily, but didn’t back up to serve again.  Instead he ducked under the net and joined the libero.  “But I think you could be faster.”

“Faster?”  Noya echoed incredulously.  “I’d like to see  _ you _ outrun me.”

“It’s not about running, it’s about aerodynamics.”  When Noya’s challenging glare turned blank, the setter threw his hands up in a helpless motion.  “Your brace,” he gestured to the black wrap around Noya’s knee as if it was crawling with spiders.  “It’s bulky - it provides optimal support but it’s hardly made for sports, especially sports like volleyball.”

“Oh.”  Nishinoya glanced down at the brace.  He couldn’t deny that it was pretty large, and it made sharp maneuvers much more difficult than they needed to be.  “And I suppose the great University student has an answer to that problem?”

Oikawa made a show out of clapping.  “So you  _ can _ think!”  Before Nishinoya could snap back a retort, Oikawa walked to the bench and pulled something out of his gym bag.  “Here.”

If Noya hadn’t been the libero that he was, it would have hit him square in the face.  He frowned at the white fabric in his hands.   _ It looks familiar… _

“Well?”  Oikawa crossed his arms, shifting his weight to his left leg.

“A knee brace?”  Recognition dawned on Nishinoya and he spluttered gracelessly, “Wait is this  _ yours _ ?”  He stuck his tongue out, “That’s gross, Tooru!”

“Moron!”  Oikawa slapped the back of his head.  “I still need mine.”  He exhaled sharply, his brows knotted.  “I got a new one, and the physician at my University gave me two.  Since I still have my old one I hardly have use of an extra.”

Nishinoya wasn’t sure what to say, so instead of speaking, he started unwrapping the support around his left knee.  Oikawa watched, his gaze unreadable, as Noya kicked off his shoe and pulled the new support into place.  He secured it with ease and jumped to his feet, unable to restrain the gasp that escaped him.  “Wow.”  He bounced on his heels and jogged in place.  He felt like he’d lost ten pounds, and though he could feel the pressure of the brace on the sides of his joint, his range of motion had greatly increased.  The corners of Oikawa’s lips quirked, the motion nearly lost in the weak lamplight.  But Noya didn’t miss a thing.  “Tooru, you-”

He was cut off by Oikawa’s lips, soft and urgent, on his own.  “Yuu-chan,” the setter murmured breathlessly, “Shut up.”

. . .

“So cool!”

“Right?”  Noya slammed his left foot on the bench, letting Tanaka and Hinata marvel at the white brace on his knee.  “It’s much more aerodynamic, and allows me to bend my knee more without giving up any support.”

“Nishinoya-senpai,” Kageyama frowned.  “It looks an awful lot…”

The whistle blew, and Noya forced a bright laugh.  “Looks like it’s time to line up!”

Oikawa was in University now - it was childish of him to think that Kageyama would hold it against him for associating with their old rival.  By the same token, Nishinoya knew that Kageyama wouldn’t let go of his desire to defeat his senpai so easily.  He knew that Kurasuno’s setter would go to University as well, and continue making strides in volleyball until Oikawa himself acknowledged being surpassed.   _ Like his ego would ever let him! _  A chill shot through Noya’s bones, followed by a rush of warmth.   He jerked his head back, glancing over his shoulder to see a familiar pair of raspberry chocolate eyes admiring him unabashedly behind thick-framed glasses.   _ Speak of the devil… _

Oikawa made an ‘okay’ sign with his fingers, dropping a wink and leaning back in his seat with the smug grin.  The whistle blew and Nishinoya forced his focus back to the game at hand.  He would have time to deal with Oikawa later, right now Kurasuno needed its Guardian Deity.   _ Just sit back and watch me, Tooru. _

. . .

Nishinoya let out a jubilant scream as Tanaka lifted him above his head like some kind of pairs ice-skating stunt.  The entire gymnasium was in an uproar.  The had done it - Kurasuno defended their title at the Inter-High preliminaries.  The team hugged each other; they cried.  Daichi and Suga and Asahi came charging down from the stands, nearly tripping over each other in their rush to congratulate their former teammates.

Nishinoya raked his gaze around the crowd, his heart stammering when he met Oikawa’s taunting gaze.  He stuck his tongue out and flipped a peace sign.  Oikawa’s shoulders shook visibly as he muffled his laughter in his hand.  Even as Daichi and Suga lifted the libero onto their shoulders, his attention was absorbed by Oikawa; by the remnants of a smile that lingered on lips Nishinoya longed to taste one more time, by his sultry eyes and the challenge that swam within them.  The setter tilted his head, his mouth framing the words that pounded in Nishinoya’s own chest.   _ “Sa koi.” _

. . .

When Nishinoya thought he’d never get the chance to breathe again, Oikawa leaned back.  Noya took a shuddering breath, biting his lip and swallowing any noise that threatened to escape.  He wasn’t sure why, but it had become somewhat of a habit for Oikawa to catch him in the bathroom when everything was said and done after a day of matches; not that he was complaining.  He couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate Kurasuno’s victory than the feeling of tangling his fingers in Oikawa’s hair.

“You should go, Yuu-chan, or someone will come looking for you.”  Oikawa lifted his fingers to comb through the stripe of blond in Nishinoya’s bangs.

“Then move,” the libero snorted, giving Oikawa a playful shove.  The setter laughed, trailing after him as they made for the door.  Before Nishinoya could touch it, the door swung open.

“Noya-senpai!  Are you…”  Hinata’s jaw dropped, his eyes snapped to something above Nishinoya’s head.  Kageyama - and the rest of the team - stood in the hall behind the stunned middle blocker.  He stammered, “Th-the Great King!”

“Uh oh,” Oikawa hummed, his tone rang with blatant amusement.  Nishinoya fought the urge to drive his elbow into the taller boy’s stomach.

Tanaka snatched Nishinoya’s arm before he could think of something to say, his voice rising and his accent getting thicker, “What do you think you’re up to, haa?!  Trying to kidnap our libero, damn it?!”

“Oh no,” Oikawa’s tone fell hollow, the amusement leaving as quickly as it had come.  “You caught me and foiled all of my plans.”

Nishinoya clenched his fists.  It had never occurred to him what he would do if one of his teammates found out how frequently he spoke with Oikawa, how they shared his free practice time and how the air between them seemed to crackle with electricity begging to be unleashed.  Now with his entire team standing between him and the setter, he realized it was something he probably should have put a little more thought into.

“Why are you really here?”  Kageyama looked the most shaken.  His hands quivered, as if he were fighting the urge to do something.  What, Nishinoya could only guess, and he had a feeling it involved violence.

“Is there something wrong with wanting to watch my old teammates compete?”  Oikawa quipped causticly.

“Oh,” Yamaguchi was the only one that thought to look surprised.  “I thought ours was the only game today.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes.  “All of Aoba Johsai’s team came to watch us though, this prick must have tagged along to try and help them with their revenge strategy.”  Though the rest of the team seemed to accept his words, Nishinoya got the sneaking suspicion that the tall middle blocker didn’t believe them himself.

“It’s Coach Ukai!”

Nishinoya made a mental note to buy the first year that had spoken ice cream after their next practice.  “We should go,” he urged them.  “Never mind him.”

Their coach called to them, and Nishinoya’s shoulders sagged as his team hurried away.  He lingered.  “Tooru, I…”

“You know what they say,” Oikawa chuckled.  “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“If it’s not a four character idiom then I  _ don’t _ know,” Noya admitted, exhaustion creeping into his voice.  His muscles were starting to ache, and his knee throbbed at a dull, steady tempo.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

With a curious tilt of his head a smile that could fell an Angel, Oikawa shrugged.  “Who knows?”

Nishinoya thought that then, even if just for a moment, he could read the meaning in those shining brown eyes.  But he blinked and it was gone, like a forgotten word on the tip of his tongue, or a smell that reminded him of something he’d tasted in his childhood.  And like those things - like everything else in his head - it was swept away by the rising tide and lost in the furious sea of emotion that surged between him and Oikawa.

 

. . .

 

“If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable.”


	3. Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter a day keeps the writer's block away! ...or something. I just wanted to take a moment and thank you all for reading and leaving kudos and comments! This unlikely pairing hit me like a charging elephant, and I cannot seem to focus on anything else - not even the other fics I'd like to post here. So I do apologize as the updates will probably come very quickly. It's going to be a wild ride, guys.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

“If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable.”

. . .

“One more!  Nice serve!”

Oikawa let a wicked grin curl the corners of his mouth.  The toss went up.   _ Perfect! _  He threw himself into the air, his heart soaring as his hand made contact with the volleyball.  The impact knocked the breath out of him, and the powerful serve drove home just to the right of the opposing team’s libero.   _ Too slow. _

Whistles blew.  It was set point - they’d swept straight through both sets as if they’d been warm ups.

“Nice serve.”  Kuroo smirked, his palm landed heavily between Oikawa’s shoulder blades, and the setter spit out the mouthful of water he’d been about to swallow.  “But, pray tell,  _ why _ did you aim at their libero?”

It was all Oikawa could do to regain his breath and snort.  “Only one libero can receive that serve.”

“Oho?”  Kuroo’s eyebrows arched up curiously.

“Oho ho?”  Bokuto poked out from behind Kuroo.  Oikawa grimaced.  He wasn’t sure  _ what _ exactly he’d been thinking when he’d taken this scholarship, but he was beginning to think that perhaps it had been a mistake.  Bokuto glanced mischievously at Kuroo, “Could he mean Yakkun?”

Oikawa pressed his lips into a thin line.  “Absolutely not.”

“Then who?”  The wing spiker pressed.  Kuroo’s grin (as if it were possible) grew more evil.

“Hoo.”  He echoed, so softly Oikawa almost didn’t catch it.  But  _ Bokuto _ did.

“Hoo.”

“Hoo, hoo.”

Oikawa forced a grin, humming through his teeth, “Go to hell.”

The pair burst into laughter, and despite himself, Oikawa let a more genuine smile slide.  They were rough around the edges as a team, with three starting positions going to first years the tension was sometimes palpable.  But they were proving their worth, molding the team into one of their own design slowly but surely.   _ And yet, _ Oikawa mused,  _ I can’t help but to feel like there’s a piece missing. _  His eyes raked critically over their libero.  He was somewhere between Oikawa’s height and Nishinoya’s, with little stamina and a dull temper.  His calm came in handy in a pinch, but outside of his level head there was nothing spectacular about him.   _ What a waste of a scholarship. _

“Oikawa,” Kuroo and Bokuto were waiting at the exit, looking curiously back at him.  “Are you just going to stand there all day, or…?”

“Coming.”  The setter hurried after his team, beyond ready to shower and be on his way.  His thirst to serve full-force wasn’t quenched, and he knew of only one way to sate it.

. . .

“Haa…”  Nishinoya panted, his cheeks flushed and eyes half-closed as Oikawa broke their kiss.

“Uwa,” Oikawa all but purred, “cute, Yuu-chan.  You’re too cute.”  He caught the fist that flashed towards him.

“I thought you wanted to practice serves,” Nishinoya squirmed.  He was trapped beneath Oikawa on the bench, sitting with his head tilted back against the back support.  One of Oikawa’s knees was propped on the bench beside Nishinoya’s hip, helping him keep his balance and his advantage over the breathless libero.

Oikawa clicked his tongue.  “I do.”  He didn’t move.  Nishinoya’s gaze flicked around, trying to find anything else to look at.  Oikawa felt his forehead crease, and he released Nishinoya’s fist in favor of gripping his chin.  “Yuu-chan, look at me.”  His eyes flashed, and before Oikawa could realize what it was he’d seen, the shorter teen had slipped right beneath him, sliding under his legs and jumping into an upright position behind Oikawa.

“If you want to practice, let’s practice.  The spring tournament is coming up.”

“Hai, hai,” Oikawa picked up his volleyball and strolled to the side of the net opposite Nishinoya.  The setter narrowed his eyes.   _ Does he think I can’t tell? _  Toss.  Jump.  Serve.  Nishinoya sent it easily back, his breaths slowly evening out as he slipped into the safety of practice.   _ Something’s been eating at him. _  He made the libero work for the next one, sending it towards the corner furthest from him.   _ And I have a pretty solid guess as what it might be. _

He pursed his lips but stayed quiet, letting Nishinoya sweat out his frustration chasing his serves.  Only when it started getting too dark to follow the ball properly did Oikawa speak again.

“Have they said anything?  About that thing at the inter-high finals?”

Nishinoya bristled.   _ Bingo. _  “What does it matter?”  The libero smoothed his hair up.  Oikawa itched to dump water over his head.

“It’s obviously bothering you.”

“It’s not,” Nishinoya crossed his arms.

“It is.”

“I said it’s not, Oikawa!”  His fists trembled, clenched at his sides.  “Nothing is bothering me, except the fact that I have to be in top shape to defend Kurasuno’s title at Nationals but instead of practicing with my team I keep coming back to  _ you _ .”

“And your team hates me,” Oikawa supplied helpfully.

“Kageyama told me not to trust you.”  There it was again, the same as when he mentioned his admiration for Oikawa’s serves.  He hid nothing, facing Oikawa with nothing but blistering honesty.  He would be lying if he said the words didn’t sting.

“He’s probably not wrong,” the setter shrugged.  He retreated, putting on his I-don’t-care face and examining a chip in one of his nails.  “I’ve been told that my resemblance to a snake is uncanny.”

“That’s not funny, Oikawa.  None of this is funny!”  His temper was rising, boiling.  His cheeks flushed with anger.  “Just what are you trying to do to me?!”

_ That _ was unexpected.  Oikawa felt his eyes widen.  “What was that, Yuu-chan?”

“You heard me!”

“Tch!”  Oikawa felt his own blood heating up.  “As  _ I _ recall,  _ you’re _ the one that dove into my practice here.   _ You’re _ the one that begged for my serves, that put your number in my phone, and oh - wait, that’s right…   _ You _ kissed  _ me _ that day, Yuu-chan.”

“That’s-”

“Not what you’re talking about?  Then what is?”  He marched towards the shorter boy, both irked and impressed when he stood his ground.

“I’m talking about this - and the knee brace - and…”  He fumbled, angry and flustered.  “What do you  _ want _ from me, Tooru?!”

His voice was raising and his words were jumbling together.  With a low growl, Oikawa snatched the front of Nishinoya’s shirt and pulled - hard - bending to meet his momentum halfway and shut him up the only way he knew how.  He hissed under his breath when Nishinoya bit down on his bottom lip, but didn’t relinquish his hold.  Instead he bit back, letting one hand drop to Nishinoya’s slender hip while the other massaged the back of his head.  Their tongues and teeth clashed, Nishinoya’s hands clutching at Oikawa’s back.  Neither of them could tell if he was trying to pull him closer or push him away; when Oikawa’s head dipped and his mouth found Nishinoya’s pulse, neither of them cared.  A soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and moan, fell from Nishinoya’s lips.  It sent a flash of heat through Oikawa’s veins, and he made a mental note of the sweet spot so he could come back to it later.

“Are you done yelling?”  He raised an eyebrow, taking in the mess Nishinoya had become.  “Because I’m tired of hearing it.”  Nishinoya’s cheeks puffed but before he could retort Oikawa claimed his lips again.  “No,” he murmured.  “Shut up.”  When he was certain he’d made his point and Nishinoya wasn’t going to explode again, he stepped back, letting his touch linger over the libero’s hip before crossed his arms.

“That’s what I don’t understand,” Nishinoya muttered.  “I like to think I have pretty fast reflexes but I can’t keep up with you, Tooru.  How can you go from one mood to the next so quickly?  Does this - did that - mean anything?”

Oikawa chewed the inside of his cheek.  He had to admit he was taken aback.  As upfront as Nishinoya could be he never expected such a direct attack.  “Do you want it to mean something?”   _ Do I? _  He never stopped to ask himself.  He had been so caught up in the storm, in admiring the the force of nature called Nishinoya Yuu, he’d never really thought of it.

“I… I’m not sure.”

“Then I’ll stop.”  Oikawa shrugged off the way his chest grew tighter at the words.  “If one…”  He sighed.  Seneca was not a four-character idiom.  He clicked his tongue and paraphrased, “If you don’t know what you want, this conversation is pointless.”

Nishinoya’s eyes widened, and for the first time in the time that they had known each other, Oikawa thought that maybe - just maybe - those nearly golden eyes saw straight through him.

He didn’t hang around long enough to find out.

. . .

“Nekoma has this, easy.”

“In your dreams, you scheming cat!”

“What a lovely compliment, I think I’ll have it engraved on my headstone.”

Oikawa shut the fridge door with more force than necessary.  “If you don’t find another place to bicker about the Tokyo qualifiers, I’m going to put you  _ both _ under headstones.”

The pair exchanged a baffled glance.  Kuroo recovered first, flashing too many teeth in a haphazard grin.  “Whoa there, Crappykawa, your mood is awfully foul for…”  He checked his phone, “One o’clock in the afternoon.”

Bokuto chirped, “And you’d probably get benched if you murdered us.”

“Not quite.”  Oikawa poured a half-mug of coffee, supplementing the rest with liquid creamer and enough sugar to induce a coma.  “I’d only be benched if I got  _ caught _ .”  He took the coffee like a shot, then concocted another mug.  The caffeine helped his mood, and he sat more peaceably in the living room with his teammates.

“How’s Seijoh done this year?”  Kuroo opted for the safest option: changing the subject.

Oikawa regarded the middle blocker - his roommate, for better or for worse - silently for a moment, trying to decide if there were any barbs hidden in the question.  When he was certain there was no hostility, he shrugged uncomfortably.  “They lost in the top four.  They can’t seem to recover from losing to Kurasuno my third year.”

“Ah,” Bokuto sympathized.  “The freak-quick team.  We did training camps with them, didn’t we?”

Kuroo looked as if he’d found the baby in a king cake.  “We beat them 3-2 at nationals last year.”

Oikawa made a gagging sound.  “If I have to hear about that game one more time…”  Bokuto’s groan seconded his chagrin.

Kuroo was unafflicted.  “It was a  _ great _ match though,” he insisted.  “Kenma  _ smiled _ and-”

“And Kurasuno’s libero nearly tore his ACL receiving your match point,” Oikawa couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone.   _ Oh no. _  Too late, he realized.   _ I’ve made a horrible mistake. _

Kuroo’s eyes positively glittered.  “I thought you didn’t  _ go _ to nationals, Oikawa… but surely…”

“To know that you would have had to see the game.”  Bokuto caught on quickly, practically preening in his seat.

“More than that,” Kuroo’s voice dropped, “they never told us the extent of the injury - I only know because Hinata texted Kenma about it.  So how do  _ you _ know?”

Oikawa downed the second mug of coffee and stood.  “I’m going on a run.”  His steely gaze did not invite company, and with fast-fading smiles his teammates could only watch him leave.

. . .

There was a part of Oikawa that was glad for the break.  Nishinoya was loud and unrelenting; a storm in every sense of the word.  But another part longed for the sixty five foot waves that surged between them; for the rumble of thunder in their veins and cracks of lightning that danced along his skin wherever it touched Nishinoya’s.

He contemplated going to nationals.  After all, Kuroo and Bokuto were making an event out of it, dragging their whole team along.  But he remembered last year all too well.  Moreover he remembered telling Nishinoya that he wouldn’t disclose which college he’d chosen.   _ Not that it matters now. _

At the end of the day prior to the match, Oikawa had made up his mind.  Four hours later, near one in the morning, one text changed it.

**From: Yuu-chan  
** **The game starts at 3.  Don’t be late!!**

. . .

Kuroo regarded Oikawa as he might a jack-in-the-box with a loose screw.  Bokuto kept his hand clamped firmly over his mouth, as if he knew the tiniest guffaw would end him.  Oikawa did his best to act as if his teammates didn’t exist.  The tactic may have worked if the teammates in question were anything like his  _ other _ teammates.  But they weren’t.  So there they were, sitting near Kurasuno’s supporters, on the top level, right at the rail.

It wasn’t until the teams came out for warmups that Kuroo spoke, jumping to his feet and yelling with all his might, “KENMA!”  Oikawa pressed himself back in his seat, slouching down in case his moron of a middle blocker had drawn any attention from Kurasuno.  Bokuto added his left hand over his right, his shoulder shaking in his efforts to muffle his laughter.

When the whistle blew, Oikawa sat up, his eyes raking the Kurasuno line up.  Nishinoya stood between Tanaka and Tsukishima, his teammates’ height making him look that much shorter.  He sported a challenging smirk that made Oikawa’s temperature rise.  He thought for sure the libero would notice him, would look his way, but Nishinoya’s blazing eyes were focused on nothing but the team before him.

“Receive,” Oikawa exhaled.  The coin went up.  The referees moved their arms.

“Looks like we’re serving again this year,” Kuroo’s lazy grin had sharpened with interest.

Oikawa glanced at the server, than at Nishinoya, and a small smile graced his lips.  He had the look - the one that drew serves to him like a tornado.  He spread his legs and sank into a ready position, his body nearly shaking in anticipation.

“Bring it!”

. . .

“Oikawa-kun.”

The setter tore his gaze from Nishinoya as the timeout buzzer chimed, flicking a glance over his shoulder at his coach.  He wondered idly if he was going to get called out for being the only member of the team  _ not _ wearing their jacket, but that thought was swept quickly aside by the keen look in the coach’s eye.  “Yes?”

The coach dipped his head towards the court.  “Kurasuno.  The pamphlet says their ace and libero are third years.”

Bokuto perked, as if sensing a threat.  “What of it?”

Ignoring him, Oikawa nodded.  “They are.”

“And you’ve played them?”

Kuroo’s brow twitched.  “I played them last year, here at nationals,” he put in.

Their coach surveyed the court again as the timeout ended.  “I’m thinking of offering them scholarships.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Kuroo choked on the breath he’d been taking, and Bokuto slapped his hands back over his mouth.  Their coach lifted his eyebrows.  “Oh?”

“Not both of them, anyway.”  Oikawa watched Nishinoya pull off a nearly-impossible block-follow, getting the ball right back to Kageyama.  “They haven’t known each other as long, but they’re not too dissimilar from me and Iwa-chan.  They’ll never grow if they keep leaning on each other.”

“I see…”  Their coach frowned.  “Thank you, Oikawa-kun.”  With a contemplative hum he was gone.

Bokuto and Kuroo fell into their usual banter, but it sounded a thousand miles away to Oikawa.  His mind was spinning, trying to wrap around the sudden realization that the little thought he’d laughed off so long ago about Nishinoya following him to university was suddenly a distinct possibility.   _ What will you do, Yuu-chan…? _

. . .

Oikawa’s stomach clenched.  They’d made it to match point again - this time for Kurasuno.  It was their serve.  Kuroo sat on the very edge of his seat, his eyes trained on Kenma.  Oikawa narrowed his eyes.  The serve went up and shot like a cannon towards Nekoma.  Their libero dove, barely making the save.  Kenma got the ball, and tossed to Lev.

_ It’s no use. _  Oikawa felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.  He had seen that look in Nishinoya’s eyes before.  The libero shot forward, rocking back with the impact and sending the ball to Kageyama.  Hinata took flight, and the match was over.

For a moment, the entire stadium seemed to be in shock.  Then Kageyama and Hinata erupted, the crowds following.  Kuroo fell back in his seat with a resigned sigh.  “Damn.”

Oikawa sought out Nishinoya in the flock of hugging crows, surprised when the libero’s blazing eyes locked with his own.  He turned with a dramatic flick of his hair, flashed a peace sign and stuck out his tongue.  Just this once, Oikawa laughed freely.

.  . .

They stuck around for the awards ceremony on Kuroo’s behalf, and started for the exit after he’d had a chance to give his high school team a solid pep talk.  Just when Oikawa thought they’d get out without incident, Kurasuno appeared.  They were chattering breathlessly, all brilliant smiles and tears of joy.  It made Oikawa feel ill.

“Should we go say hey?”  Bokuto was looking curiously at Tsukishima.

“Oikawa!”

All three university students jumped, and Oikawa lifted his gaze with a wry smile.  Nishinoya had split from his teammates, walking unsteadily towards them with his chin high.  The rest of his team hung back, looking confused.

Oikawa hummed quietly as the libero got closer, “Yuu-chan.”

“One more.”  Before Oikawa could ask, before he could react, Nishinoya had snagged the front of his shirt, fisting his fingers in the material and pulling the setter forcefully down to his level.  Oikawa’s heart tripped over itself.   _ Is he… _  Nishinoya sucked in a breath, then lunged forward, shutting his eyes tightly and smacking his forehead into Oikawa’s with enough force that the setter saw stars.

“Yuu-chan, that…”  He blinked one eye open, but his complaint withered on his tongue when he met Nishinoya’s burning gaze.  “Yuu…”

His cheeks were flushed ever-so-slightly, his forehead red from the collision.  His legs quivered like they would give out any moment, but his eyes were as demanding as ever, daring him to face the wind and rain.  “Tooru.”  His hand shook as he tugged on Oikawa’s shirt again.  “Mou ikkai.”

_ One more. _  Oikawa smirked.  He pulled his hands from his own pockets and hooked his fingers in the pockets of Nishinoya’s jacket, pulling him closer and dipping his head so that their breaths mingled between their barely brushing lips.  “Sa koi.”

. . .

“You learn to know a pilot in a storm.”


	4. Pilot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and kind comments, guys! I hope you enjoy chapter 4!

“One learns to know a pilot in a storm.”

. . .

It wasn’t uncommon for Nishinoya to  _ occasionally  _ forget where he was, at what time, and what may or may not be appropriate in said setting.  It wasn’t until it had ended that it occurred to him that kissing Oikawa in the middle of the stadium lobby  _ might _ be one such moment.

The chaos that followed was nothing short of legendary.

Hinata and Tanaka were screaming, Kageyama had blanched so pale Nishinoya thought for certain the setter’s soul had left his body, and Tsukki had one eyebrow quirked nearly to his hairline.  Kuroo - Nishinoya would have recognized his sloppy black bed hair anywhere - wore a grin that could only be described as a hybrid of the cheshire cat and the friendly shark from Finding Nemo.

“So  _ that’s _ what you meant when you said there was only one libero that could ‘receive you serves.’”

Oikawa sighed, a taunting smile dancing across his lips as his eyes locked with Noya’s.  Amusement tempered the mild agitation within his gaze.  “Look at what you’ve done.”

“What can I say,” Nishinoya leaned back, relishing the way Oikawa’s grip on his jacket tightened and putting his hands up in an imitation of a helpless shrug, “I know what I want.”

. . .

“You’re  _ gay _ ?”

Of course that’s what Hinata would pick up on in all of this.  Nishinoya’s rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, “Well…”

“He’s bi,” Tanka frowned at their junior, as if he was surprised he hadn’t known.  “You didn’t know?”

Ennoshita tilted his head, bringing one finger to his chin, “It’s not like he advertises it,” the captain mused, “but he also isn’t shy about it.”

“I’m not shy about anything,” Noya puffed his chest out.

Tsukki massaged his temple.  “I’m not sure that’s something to boast about.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re shy about everything,” Yamaguchi’s statement was met with muffled laughter.  As high as they were on their victory, the whole team was exhausted, and slowly but surely the steady hum of the bus began lulling them to sleep.

As restless as he was, even Nishinoya wasn’t immune to the fatigue.  He let his head drop onto Tanaka’s shoulder with a content sigh.

“Do you feel better?”  Tanaka shifted in his seat, letting his own head rest atop Nishinoya’s fluffy hair.  The gel was giving, making it softer than it normally was in the day.  Nishinoya nodded, a yawn parting his lips and making whatever he’d been saying an unintelligible slur.  The ace snorted, “What?”

“You know I suck at secrets,” Noya repeated.  His eyelids were heavy, and the soft wings of sleep threatened to envelop him at any moment.  But even half-asleep he didn’t miss the sudden tension in the shoulder beneath his head.  He wanted to sit back up and ask, but the most he could manage was a mumble, lost in the jostle of a speed bump.  And then he was sleeping, the unease fleeing his mind in favor of pleasant dreams of the victories he’d achieved that day - both on and off the volleyball court.

. . .

**To: Tooru  
** **Ryu is pissed… what the hell?!**

It had only taken a number of days for Nishinoya to realize the fact.  Tanaka was, after all, his best friend.  The ace chalked up the distance between them to his concern over University applications.   _ Bullshit. _  Nishinoya jumped out of bed with a huff, casting an exasperated glare at his own stack of applications, strewn haphazardly across his small desk.  He was glad for the distraction when his phone went off.

**From: Tooru  
** **Are you sure he’s not just busy with Univeristy applications?  Like you should be?**

**To: Tooru  
** **Yes, jackass!  And I AM busy with University applications!!!**

To prove his point, Noya snapped a quick picture of his desk and added the attachment to his last message.  He grabbed a towel and padded down the hall, still texting furiously.

**To: Tooru  
** **And if it were just that, he would have told me!!**

**To: Tooru  
** **Why did I think I could talk to you about this?!**

He pulled the shirt he’d slept in up over his head, tossing it in the general direction of his hamper.  His pajama pants and underwear followed, none of the clothes in question actually making it to the basket.

**From: Tooru  
** **Yuu-chan~ You’re making that cute serious face again, aren’t you?**

Nishinoya threw his hands up with a huff of helpless frustration and opted to ignore the setter in favor of getting in the shower.  He had the water turned nearly as hot as it would go, letting the steam clear his head and the steady water pressure massage the ache out of his muscles.  When he felt equal parts clean and relaxed, he shut off the water and got out, toweling his hair roughly before tying the fluffy towel around his waist.  He was mildly surprised to see another text notification blinking up at him on his phone.

**From: Tooru  
** **Sorry, sorry, I know you’re serious.  Come see me after school today?**

Another text came in as he was reading the first.

**From: Tooru  
** **I know a great cafe - bring your University applications and I’ll help.**

Despite himself, Nishinoya felt a smile tugging on his features.  How could he say no to getting help with the massive stack of deadlines-in-waiting leering at him from his desk?

**To: Tooru  
** **Send me the address, I’ll see you at 4!**

. . .

Nishinoya wasn’t sure what he’d honestly been expecting when he spotted the cafe across the street.  Somehow, he found he wasn’t really surprised by the sight that greeted him.  Oikawa was waiting outside, half-sitting half-leaning against the low fence that wrapped around the outdoor dining area.  The air around him seemed to sparkle with self-confidence, his aura of charm and abundance of ego drawing girls to him like a flock of seagulls.  He snorted at the thought; they sounded like seagulls, too, cawing and cooing, flapping their arms in desperate attempts to get Oikawa’s attention.  He considered sneaking past, but Oikawa spotted him, his eyes shooting wide and lighting up.

“Yuu-chan~!”  He called, straightening and beckoning him over with an exaggerated wave of his arm.  “Help me, I’m surrounded!”

The girls giggled, parting to let Nishinoya through once he’d crossed the street.  “Aw, Oikawa-kun, no fair!”

Oikawa threw his arm around Nishinoya’s shoulders, pulling him tight against his side.  “I belong to Yuu-chan today,” he scolded them playfully, “Maybe next time.”

Noya decided rather quickly that he  _ really _ liked the way that sounded.  He put his own arm around Oikawa’s waist, casting the setter an impish smirk.  “Or not.”

At that, Oikawa laughed.  He let his own hand fall to Nishinoya’s hip, thumbing the hem of his shirt aside so his fingertips could brush against his skin.  “Or not,” he agreed easily.

The girls flushed in a comical way, squeals escaping them as they pressed more tightly together, gushing about something in fluent seagull.  They were gone before Nishinoya could ponder much on what had flustered them, and Oikawa didn’t leave an opportunity for him to ask.

“Let’s go in, shall we?”

Nishinoya let the setter usher him in ahead of him, admiring the rush of pleasant scents that greeted him as the doors opened.

“Welco…”  Iwaizumi stood behind the counter, his welcoming call dying in his throat.  “Trashykawa, I should have known.”

Oikawa rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, dropping a wink and sticking his tongue out.  “Hiya, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi ignored his old setter, his gaze dropping to Nishinoya.  “Congratulations,” he motioned towards the large television that hung on one wall.  “I watched the games.  Your plays have improved drastically, Nishinoya.  I imagine you’ll be getting plenty of scholarship offers after a game like that.”

For once, Noya was at a loss of words.  The compliment meant far more than he expected it to coming from Oikawa’s old teammate.  He stammered, “Thank you,” and dipped into a quick bow.  Oikawa patted his shoulder.

“You’re welcome, Yuu-chan, for the hours of practice I helped you with.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes.  “Order and get out of the way, Crappykawa, you’re going to scare away the actual customers.”

With a disdainful toss of his head, Oikawa complied, leaning his elbows on the counter and ordering the largest, sweetest thing on the menu.  When he  _ insisted _ he buy Nishinoya something as well, the libero settled on a small flavored tea.  Asahi had let him have coffee once, and Suga had promptly banned him from ever ingesting so much caffeine again.  Nishinoya almost couldn’t blame his senior, looking back on it.  The destruction he’d left in his wake had taken the better part of two days to clean up.

“Now,” Oikawa sank gracefully into a chair at a small table.  It was right next to the large front windows, lending them a wide view of the late spring weather.  “Let’s see those applications.”

Nishinoya pulled the disorganized stack from his bag and dropped it carelessly on the table between them.  “They’re all powerhouse volleyball schools,” Noya summarized.  “I just haven’t gone through all of them and put them in order yet.”

Oikawa wrinkled his nose as he picked up the first pamphlet.  “Absolutely not.  Their coach is shit, you’ll regress if you go here.”

The next hour proceeded in much the same, until only a handful of Universities remained on the table.  Nishinoya looked over those that had made Oikawa’s cuts.  In the world of volleyball, they were elite.  And their academic programs certainly weren’t lacking either.

“So tell me about this problem you’re having with Tanaka.”

“Hm?”  Nishinoya looked up from the papers, bewildered.  He had almost forgotten the reason he’d come in the first place.  “Oh.”  The libero stuffed the applications back into his bag.  “He’s pissed about something, but he won’t say what.  Or even that he’s pissed - but I  _ know _ that he is.  I think he’s mad at me.”

Oikawa cocked a brow and took a long sip from his drink.  “And you’re sure it’s not just stress?”

“Yes!”  Noya insisted.  “We talked about University stuff all the time, this didn’t start until after nationals.”

For whatever reason, that statement seemed to pique Oikawa’s interest.  “Oh?”

Nishinoya frowned.  “Yeah, why?”

“Did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?!”

The amused glint in Oikawa’s eyes should have told him well enough, but he leaned forward, his mouth adopting a teasing grin as he prompted, “That we kissed.”

“He  _ saw _ ,” Nishinoya spluttered.  “The whole team did!”

Oikawa tutted.  “I meant before that.  The first time.”

Perplexed, Noya shook his head, his frustration dialing back.  “Well, no…”

“I told Iwa-chan,” Oikawa leaned back with a shrug, lifting his arms and folding them above his head.  “Not immediately, of course, but after a while.”

Nishinoya flashed a disbelieving glance over his shoulder at the indifferent-looking employee.  “You did?”

“Mhm.  He  _ is _ my best friend, even if he doesn’t act it.”  He crossed one leg over the other in a haughty way, bring his arms back down to rest his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands.  “Did you ever think that maybe he’s upset because he didn’t know before everyone else on your team?”

Noya blinked, baffled.  Of course he hadn’t thought that - why would he, when Tanaka hadn’t told him?  “Gah,” he raked his fingers through his hair, “This is too convoluted.”

“Convoluted!”  Oikawa laughed around the straw between his lips.  “I didn’t know you knew such big words, Yuu-chan.”

“Ha ha,” Noya deadpanned, pressing his lips into a thin frown.  “Tooru must read dictionaries for fun.”

But Oikawa’s childish glee was infectious.  Noya found himself smiling back at the setter, admiring the way the sunlight came through the window and set his cinnamon eyes glittering.  When his laughter had passed, Oikawa tilted his head, almost as if he had realized how transfixed on him Noya had become.  “Yuu-chan,” he hummed softly.  “What are you smiling about?”

“None of your business,” Noya tore his eyes away, trying to find something - anything - more interesting than Oikawa through the window.  He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, unaware of the way Oikawa’s expression changed with the motion.   _ Maybe if I apologize… _ Even the thought left a bad taste in his mouth.  Nishinoya didn’t often apologize.  He took pride in his unwavering ability to speak his mind, and to say sorry felt like admitting that his way of living was wrong in some way.  He washed the bitterness off his tongue with his tea, nibbling absentmindedly on the straw to spare his lip for the time being.   _ Maybe not apologize,  _ he amended,  _ but explain a little better.   _ He  _ did _ think of Ryu as his best friend, and the more he thought about it, the more it became apparent that he probably would have reacted in much the same way if he found out Tanaka had been sneaking around with some girl without even mentioning it to him.

He jumped when Oikawa’s fingers clamped on his straw, pulling it from his mouth in a swift, forceful motion.  “I’m going to need you to stop that, Yuu-chan.”  His voice was lofty and his smile bright, but those sentiments didn’t reach his eyes, which had darkened considerably.

Warmth crept up Noya’s spine at the implications, seeping up his neck and staining his cheeks just a shade pinker.  The cafe wasn’t like the outdoor volleyball court, there were people mingling about, and the window hardly lent them any privacy; he couldn’t just lunge in recklessly like he normally would have, letting his instincts overcome his few-and-far-between more logical thoughts.  Instead he worried his bottom lip again.  Oikawa dropped his forehead into his palm.

“For fuck’s sake,” he croaked under his breath, “You’re going to kill me.”  He leaned forward, one hand cupping Nishinoya’s cheek in his palm.  His thumb brushed Noya’s bottom lip.  “This,” he muttered, “is worse.”

Noya’s breath caught in his throat.  The pad of Oikawa’s thumb was startlingly soft against his bitten lip.  “To-”

Oikawa made a choked sound, jamming his thumb quickly between Noya’s lips and pressing his tongue to the bottom of his mouth.  Nishinoya jerked back, spluttering and sticking his tongue out.  “What the hell?!”

With a sigh that Noya could only describe as relieved, the setter slouched back into his seat.  “That was close…”

“Close to what?  My death?!  Are you trying to kill me?!  I almost bit my tongue!”  Nishinoya snatched at his drink, washing away the taste of Oikawa’s skin before he had the chance to really notice it.  “Never mind,” he stood abruptly.  “I need to go talk to Tanaka.  We have a party tonight, I need things between us to be normal before then.”

Oikawa lifted one hand in a half-wave.  “You’re welcome, Yuu-chan.  I’ll talk to you later.”

Noya stuck his tongue out and spun on his heel, marching towards the exit in a whirlwind of confusing thoughts and feelings that he  _ really _ didn’t have time to deal with.  Iwaizumi watched with mild amusement covered by a mask of well-practiced indifference.  “Come again.”

. . .

Nishinoya let himself into Tanaka’s house, well-acquainted enough with his family that they never questioned his presence in their home, even when unexpected.  “Pardon the intrusion.”

Shoes off, Noya padded towards the hall, making his way easily to Tanaka’s room.  He didn’t bother knocking, sliding the door open and putting on a winning grin.  “Yo!”

Tanaka lifted his hand in way of greeting, sitting at his desk with a pen twirling between his fingers.  “I thought I heard you come in.”

Nishinoya peered over Tanaka’s shoulder before dropping cross-legged onto his friend’s bed.  “I heard that coach is shit,” he commented idly.  “I took that one off my list.”

Tanaka cast a wary glance over his shoulder.  “Did Oikawa tell you that?”

_ You don’t have to be so defensive! _  Noya bit his tongue.  “Yeah.”  A terse silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of crinkling paper as Tanaka balled up the application and dropped it in the nearly-full garbage can beneath his desk.  When he finally couldn’t take it anymore, Nishinoya puffed out a sigh.  “Look, Ryu,” he caught Tanaka’s gaze, refusing to let him break eye contact.  “I’m not sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize-”

“I know you’re angry,” Noya cut him off.  “I’ve known since Nationals, and even though you didn’t tell me why - which would have been much easier, Ryu, just so you know - I think I figured it out.  And I’m not sorry.”

Tanaka pressed his lips into a thin line, turning his chair so he could give Noya his somewhat grudging attention.  “Alright,” he muttered, “I’ll humor you.”

“I’m not sorry,” Nishinoya repeated, “Not for what happened at Nationals, or for anything before that.  But I did come to apologize.”  Tanaka’s brow wrinkled, but Noya swept on resolutely, “I know in volleyball that Tooru is public enemy number one, so when I ran into him and we started training together in our free time I didn’t want to say anything.  I didn’t want Kageyama to think I didn’t feel he was good enough; I didn’t want anyone to think that.”

“Like we-”

“I worried about it, alright?!”  Noya clenched his fists.  “And I…  I’m sorry, okay?  For not telling you first.  I can’t imagine how mad I’d be if you kept something like that from me.”

Tanaka blinked slowly, taking in the information and mulling it over.  Nishinoya wondered vaguely if his friend was deliberately making him wait, wanting him to suffer for the strain he’d put on their friendship.  Finally, the ace shook his head, lifting his shoulders in a light laugh.  “Oh man, Yuu, you  _ really _ suck at apologies.”  He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

A sheepish grin stretched across Noya’s face.  “Sorry,” he offered weakly.

To his relief, Tanaka just laughed again.  “I’m not forgiving you,” he mocked lightly, “But I’m not mad any more.”  He sat back in his chair.  “Now, share your boyfriend’s insight, what other Universities suck?”

. . .

Nishinoya spent the next few days dividing his time between helping the first year with their eyes on his libero position, working through applications and scholarships with Tanaka, and catching glimpses and glances of Oikawa in his suddenly limited free time.  He still didn’t know what he would study in University, but he figured if he could at least get in using volleyball, everything else would come in its own time.  He felt  _ good _ .

The libero pushed his arms up above his head in a stretch as he made his way down the hall.   _ Should I go for a run? _  It was getting warm outside, perfect for a good sweat.   _ Maybe the first years will come with me. _  His thoughts derailed rather suddenly as he sat down at the table.  An official looking envelope sat near the center.  Attached to it was a bright green sticky note with his mother’s writing on it, apologizing for opening his mail and congratulating him, promising to cook him his favorite dinner when she got home.  Thoroughly bewildered, Noya peeled the sticky note away to reveal his name and address hand-written in elegant, curly-cue letters he’d only ever seen in movies.  His fingers dipped into the envelope, pulling out a single page of embellished stationary.  His eyes flicked over the text, shot wide as dinner plates and scanned each line again, more slowly.

Nishinoya’s phone was against his ear before he’d realized he’d even dialed a number.

“What a pleasant surprise, Yuu-chan,” Oikawa’s lyrical voice chimed on the other side.  “How-”

“Do you remember that University, the one I decided was my top pick?!”  Nishinoya couldn’t keep his voice down if he tried.  “I just - in the mail - a letter.”

“Oh?”  Interest spiked Oikawa’s tone.  “From one of your applications?  Did you get accepted?”

“No.  Well, I mean,” Nishinoya shook his head, forgetting for a moment that he was talking on the phone and Oikawa couldn’t see the motion.

“Words, Yuu-chan.  Use your words.”

“You asshole, I’m trying!”  If not for the fear that he might explode if he didn’t share the news, Noya would have hung up on him.  “I haven’t sent my applications yet!”

“Then…?”

“It’s a scholarship!”  His eyes raked the page again.  “A large…”  He mentally reminded himself to breathe.  “A very generous scholarship.  For volleyball!”  He let out a breathless cheer, jumping straight into the air.  “I can do it, Tooru - I can go to school for volleyball…!”

. . .

“True happiness is… to enjoy the present, without anxious dependence on the future.”


	5. Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For what it's worth, I adore writing Oikawa/Kuroo/Bokuto broship. It is entirely too much fun.  
> Enjoy!

“True happiness is… to enjoy the present without anxious dependence on the future.”

. . .

As much as he hated to admit it, Oikawa had grown almost  _ fond _ of the way Bokuto barged into his (and Kuroo’s) apartment unannounced at the crack of dawn.  Sometimes he just wanted coffee, as Oikawa was the only one within five miles that seemed to have the presence of mind to buy a coffee pot with a  _ delayed start _ setting, allowing him to wake up to a full pot of fresh coffee every morning.  Other times it was to beg one of the residents to join him on a morning run, which never failed to hook at least one of them.

The door slammed open, and Oikawa groaned at the light the it let in.  Kuroo had moved from his bedroom to the couch, and helpfully threw a pillow at their teammate’s face.  It bounced harmlessly off of his irritating smile.  “Good morning!”

“Go to hell,” Oikawa and Kuroo droned in unison.

Bokuto crossed his arms over his chest with a huff.  “Aren’t you even going to ask about my good mood?”

Kuroo seemed to be dozing off again, his head slowly slipping from the arm of the couch.  Oikawa snickered into his mug as the middle blocker fell off of the couch.  “Ow,” he sat up rubbing his arm.

“You’re going to tell us anyway,” Oikawa sat where Kuroo had been laying, biting out a sigh as his teammate opted to instead rest his head on his legs.

“You’re right,” Bokuto chirped.  He struck a pose, lifting one hand valiantly into the air.  “Today is…  The first day of the school year!”

Kuroo started snoring.

“We don’t have any Tuesday classes,” Oikawa deadpanned.  “Remember?”

Bokuto’s enthusiasm didn’t waver.  “I know that!”  He marched to the coffee table, his hands falling to his hips as he leaned over Oikawa and Kuroo.  “But you know who  _ does _ ?”  He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.  “ _ The first years. _ ”

Kuroo came back to life with a start, choking on his tongue and wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth.  “The first years,” he gasped, “I completely forgot…!”

“I thought you might,” Bokuto crowed, his golden eyes shining as he leaned back again.  “They’ll be rotating in and out of the gym all day, and we. Don’t. Have. Class.”

Oikawa drained the last of coffee in one shot.  “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be ready in five,” Kuroo agreed, scrambling to his feet.

In the midst of throwing on a suitable outfit - topped of course, with his team jacket - Oikawa caught sight of a text notification on his phone, missed in the half-dead stupor of pre-coffee.

**From: Yuu-chan  
** **First day of University - wish me luck!!**

Oikawa’s lips tugged into a smirk.

**To: Yuu-chan  
** **You’re going to need so much more than luck, Yuu-chan~**

. . .

The sounds of basic drills rang in the air outside of the volleyball gym, bringing a coy smirk to Oikawa’s face.  Their coach was sure to be putting the first years through hell all day, trying to find which ones - if any - would be a suitable addition to the regulars.  Bokuto skipped ahead, throwing the doors open with much more force than necessary.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

Oikawa smacked his ace across the back of his head as he passed.  “Coach,” he offered more politely.  “We’ve come to help.”

“Aha,” their coach all but beamed at them, “Perfect timing.  This set is just about to rotate out, but we’ve got a set of three coming in next.  I don’t want a three-on-three, but I might ask you each to demonstrate your skills.”

“Yes, coach,” Kuroo found a chair and promptly sank into it.  Oikawa set next to him, leaving Bokuto to pace restlessly in front of them.

“Will Kenma be joining us?”  Oikawa’s skin crawled at the thought.  He and the Nekoma setter had very similar ideas when it came to observation and making plays.  He would even hazard to say that the younger boy had a far superior dump.

“Pfft,” Kuroo checked his phone and pocketed it.  “Not likely.  It was lucky that I managed to keep him in through high school.  And honestly I owe a lot of that to Hinata Shouyo.”  He glanced slyly at the setter, who hadn’t been able to restrain his relieved sigh.  “Were you feeling threatened just now?”

Oikawa scoffed quietly, “Hardly.”  Instead of trying to explain himself to the smirking middle blocker, Oikawa kicked his foot out, catching Bokuto mid-step and sending him face-first into the floor.  “Would you stop that?  You’re driving me crazy.”

Kuroo snickered into his hand.  He looked as if he was going to antagonize Bokuto a little more, but he was cut off my the sound of the gym door opening.  Oikawa’s focus was drawn instantly, his lips quirking as an all-too-familiar tuft of blond hair caught his eye.

“Welcome!”  Their coach opened his arms in a warm greeting.  “I’m glad you’ve all come, and I look forward to getting a small taste of your skills before the full team comes together to practice tomorrow morning.  Here with me I have some of the most promising players I’ve ever offered scholarships to; look up to them and learn all you can from them.”

At that cue, Oikawa and Kuroo stood, each with a hand in Bokuto’s shirt, dragging him to his feet as well.  Two of the first year’s looked awestruck, and the third - the third, with his hair spiked up at least ten centimeters and sharp sable eyes - wore an expression of mingled shock and fury.

“To-!”

Oikawa cut in abruptly, raising his hand in a small wave.  “I’m Oikawa Tooru, the starting setter.  I hope you won’t hold anything back today.”  He spoke to all three, but the challenging glint in his eyes was only for Nishinoya.

“I’m Kuroo Tetsurou,” Kuroo added.  “Middle blocker.  And this is Bokuto Koutarou, our ace.”

“Nishinoya Yuu,” Nishinoya’s eyes lingered on Oikawa, defiant, before sliding to lock with their coach’s.  “Libero.”  The others introduced themselves more quietly, as if Nishionoya’s unwavering grin had made them uneasy.

“Very good,” the coach clapped his hands together.  “Libero, net A, you two, net B.  Oikawa-kun, Bokuto-kun, net A with the libero, Kuroo, net B.”

Oikawa gave Kuroo a quick high five before following Nishinoya and Bokuto to the first net.  The coach went with them.

“Alright.  Oikawa, one jump serve, please.”

“Just one?”  He lifted one eyebrow.

“I know you don’t have your knee brace on, Oikawa-kun, don’t push it.”  The coach tossed him a ball.  Nishinoya was already on the other side of the net, letting out a slow exhale as he sank into position.

Oikawa stepped behind the line.  The ball went up, and holding nothing back, Oikawa surged into the serve.  Nishinoya was moving almost before the contact had ended, shooting across the court as Oikawa’s serve rocketed towards the far corner.  His cheeks puffed out as he caught the volleyball’s full momentum on his forearms, using his entire body to kill the speed and send it seamlessly to his imaginary setter.

“Kyaa,” Bokuto’s golden eyes were wide.  “He’s only gotten better at receiving since nationals.”

“You’re up, Bokuto.”

Nishinoya tilted his chin up, flashing his teeth in a grin.  “Bring it.”

. . .

“You could have  _ told _ me!”

Oikawa coughed as Nishinoya’s open palm slammed into his stomach.  Kuroo snickered behind his hand.

“That wouldn’t have been any fun at all,” Oikawa defended himself weakly as he tried to regain his breath.  “Besides, the look on your face when you saw me was  _ priceless _ .”  The libero aimed another blow, but Oikawa was more prepared this time.  He caught his hand easily, a smirk curving his lips when the libero only laughed.  Neither of them let go.

“Hey, hey,” Bokuto reminded Oikawa that things couldn’t possibly be so simple.  “What’s going on here, Oikawa-kun?”

In response, Oikawa lifted their joined hands, flipping his middle finger at the ace.

“Say, Bokuto,” Kuroo put a hand on the ruffled spiker’s shoulder.  “Wanna make a bet?”

Oikawa twitched.  “Let’s go, Yuu-chan,” he tugged the libero’s hand.  “I’ll show you around campus.”

Nishinoya glanced curiously at his new teammates, but Oikawa didn’t leave any room for him to object, his longer legs forcing Noya to focus on keeping his feet in check.  “Kuroo hasn’t changed a bit,” he observed mildly, bright brown eyes finally tearing away from the middle blocker.

“Neither has Bokuto,” Oikawa sighed.  He slowed when he was certain they were no longer being followed.  “Anyway, what do you think?”  They were on the quad now, the center of the university’s life.  A massive fountain decorated the middle, surrounded by lush grass and beautifully kept sidewalks.

Nishinoya let out a low whistle.  “I’d seen pictures,” he admitted, “but they don’t really do it justice.”

“They don’t,” Oikawa agreed.  He stole a glance at the shorter boy, feeling his chest squeeze at the awestruck look on his face.  “If you’re done with class-”

“I’m  _ starving _ ,” Nishinoya cut him off abruptly, turning to face the setter.  “I haven’t eaten all day, and trying to impress that coach nearly did me in.”

Despite himself, Oikawa laughed.  “Alright, food then.”  Hr dropped Nishinoya’s hand in favor of wrapping his arm around his waist.  His thumb brushed at the hem of the libero’s shirt.  “I’ll show you to the dining hall.”

They settled on something simple, eating in one of the more secluded areas and then heading back outside.  The weather was getting cooler, but the late afternoon sunshine took the edge off of the breeze.  Early autumn was a good look for Nishinoya, Oikawa decided.

“-and Kenma’s schedule is nearly identical to mine,” Nishinoya was  _ still _ talking, and hands fluttering about as he spoke, adding visual punctuation to every line.  “Except he’s already figured out what he wants to major in, so he’s got some classes that go along with that as well.”

“Hm,” Oikawa didn’t try to mask his disinterest.  He heard enough about Kuroo’s childhood friend from his middle blocker, he didn’t need to hear it from Nishinoya, too.  “What about you, Yuu-chan?  Have you figured out what you’re going to do yet?”

A sheepish expression crossed Noya’s features.  “Well… not exactly.  I was too excited about being able to play on one of the most powerful volleyball teams in the nation to really think about it.”

Oikawa clicked his tongue, “Typical.  You know, Yuu-chan, you can only get so far filling your schedule with general studies.  You should really think about what you want to do after university.”

His words seemed to fall on deaf ears.  Nishinoya laughed.  “Yeah, sure,” he puffed.  “Thanks mom, I’ll try.”  Oikawa pressed his lips into a thin line, but Nishinoya went on softly, “Really, Tooru.  Don’t worry so much.”

It was all Oikawa could do to sigh.   _ When did my name start to sound like that rolling off of your tongue…? _

. . .

“Ast-ro-phys-i-ol-o-gy,” Oikawa repeated with exaggerated enunciation.  “Astrophysics.”

Nishinoya’s stare only grew more blank.  “What?”  he echoed for what had to be the eighteenth time.

Oikawa puffed his cheeks out.  “Oh never  _ mind _ ,” he hissed between his teeth.  “Science.  My major is science.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” like it was that simple - like all “science” was the same.

Oikawa turned his mutinous glare back to his open book.  “Moron.”

Nishinoya rolled his eyes.  “Stop glaring, Cranky-kawa, you’re going to burn holes into the pages.”

His frustration faded quickly.  It wasn’t often Nishinoya set foot in the library, and it wasn’t as if his company was unwelcome.  He sighed and lifted his eyes once more.  Nishinoya was examining his notes, his tongue peeking out as he tried to make sense of the delicate, nearly-calligraphic scrawl that filled Oikawa’s notebooks.  Sunlight filtered through the windows, splashing across the table and dancing in Nishinoya’s eyes.

The feeling hit him rather suddenly, not very different from the feeling of Iwaizumi kicking him in the gut.  It wasn’t something he could name - he was certain that there wasn’t another feeling like it.   _ Surely _ if anyone else had ever felt this way about another person it would have been documented somewhere.

“Tooru?”  A smile played about Nishinoya’s lips, coy.  “You’re staring.”

“I know.”  Oikawa leaned forward, unable to resist any longer, and captured Nishinoya’s lips.  Nishinoya shuddered at the contact, a sigh - was that  _ relief _ Oikawa heard? - escaping into Oikawa’s mouth.  The setter pulled back, unable to contain his content smirk.  Nishinoya’s eyes were wide, a rich sable speckled with vibrant shades of amber and gold.  They were mesmerizing.  Oikawa brought his fingertips to Nishinoya’s cheeks, trying to calm his own stuttering pulse.  They hadn’t been very physical in the past weeks, and it was painfully obvious now how desperately they’d both been craving the attention.

Oikawa stood suddenly, pushing out a forceful sigh.  “I have go to my last class,” he announced a little too loudly.  “After practice, let’s go to my apartment.”

Nishinoya grinned in a way that was frighteningly similar to Kuroo.  “Deal.”

. . .

“This will be our starting line up.”

Oikawa’s heart leapt into his throat.  Their lineup had changed almost every practice match, never including the exact same members.  He glanced at Nishinoya, but the libero didn’t seem the least bit concerned.  He nudged his senpai of the same position in a teasing way, no doubt making a joke.

The whiteboard flipped, and Boktuo erupted.  “ACE!”

Kuroo sighed.  “Are you  _ actually _ surprised?”

The owl jumped up to look more closely.  “Oho?!”

“Oho ho ho?”  Kuroo’s eyes widened as he leaned in.  Both second-years turned their taunting gazes to Nishinoya.

“Yuu-chan,” Oikawa hummed, making an “okay” gesture with his fingers, “We’ll be counting on you.”

For a moment, Oikawa wondered if Nishinoya had even understood what the markings on the whiteboard meant - he would be their starting libero.  Then he shot straight into the air, jumping easily twice his height with a jubilant cry almost as ear-splitting as Bokuto’s.

Kuroo laughed openly, ruffling the first year’s hair until Bokuto lifted him and spun him a wide circle.  Oikawa felt his brow twitch.   _ Maybe this wasn’t as good of an idea as I initially thought. _

His mind changed drastically when Nishinoya pushed him onto the couch later that night.  Kuroo and Bokuto hadn’t come back with them, saying something about some party they wanted to check out.  Oikawa was grateful for their absence.  His hands fell to Nishinoya’s hips as the fiery libero crawled into his lap, his teeth pricking at Oikawa’s lips.  Not one to let control slip from his fingers, Oikawa let out a low growl, biting back with a little more force, taking advantage of the gasp that followed to thrust his tongue into Nishinoya’s more-than-welcoming mouth.  When they finally broke apart, Oikawa wasted not time in trailing a series of burning kisses down Nishinoya’s jawline.  His breath came more harshly when Oikawa’s lips found his neck.

“Yuu-chan,” Oikawa purred, flicking his tongue across Nishinoya’s ear.  “Your neck is sensitive, isn’t it?”  He didn’t wait for an answer, ducking his head to press his lips against Nishinoya’s pulse.

“M-maybe,” Noya rasped, his head falling back to give Oikawa more room.

“Maybe…?”  The hot breath against his neck sent shivers rippling down Nishinoya’s spine.  Oikawa smirked, letting his tongue and teeth follow his lips, sucking a harsh red mark just under his jaw, relishing the feel of his pulse hammering away beneath the attention.  There was so much -  _ so much _ \- of Nishinoya that Oikawa didn’t know yet.

Nishinoya’s fingers tangled in his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging on the silken locks.  That sensation alone was enough to bring a groan to Oikawa’s lips.  The setter felt more than heard the sharp breath Nishinoya sucked in before repeating the action, a tremor coursing through him when it drew the same sound from Oikawa’s throat.

“Fuck,” Oikawa’s lips were halted rather inconveniently by the collar of Nishinoya’s shirt.  He remedied that problem quickly, lifting one hand to pull the offensive material aside, revealing Nishinoya’s pale, perfect collar bone.  First a kiss, as urgent and heated as those previous, and then his teeth, pricking and sucking at the thin skin.  Nishinoya let his head fall forward, his hands fisting more tightly in Oikawa’s hair as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Tooru…!”  His voice pitched up into a breathless laugh when Oikawa’s fingers slipped under his shirt, dancing across his stomach and ribs.  “That tickles…!”

“Oh…?”  Oikawa leaned back against the couch, grinning wickedly as he continued prodding at Nishinoya’s ribs.  He was completely unprepared for Nishinoya’s counter attack, and when his nimble fingers slipped under his shirt Oikawa practically squealed.  “No fair, Yuu-chan!”

They collapsed together, the blistering heat fleeing and leaving them with breathless smiles and a lingering warmth buzzing in their veins.

“Yuu-chan,” Oikawa twirled the streak of blond hair lazily around his finger.  “Are you excited to have a starting position?”

“What kind of a question is that?”  Nishinoya snorted, pushing Oikawa’s hand away and doing his best to fix his falling hairstyle.  “Of course I’m excited.  I’ve practiced a lot with Bokuto - I’m pretty sure I can cover his ass no matter how he shuts down.”

Oikawa snickered, “I certainly hope so.”  He sat up again, groaning when his physics textbook entered his line of sight again.

“Still worried about that test?”  Nishinoya stayed sprawled across the empty cushions, tilted his head as he followed Oikawa’s gaze.

“Not really,” Oikawa sighed.  “I think I’ll be alright.”  He fixed Nishinoya with a suddenly critical glare.  “You’ve been at University for months now, and I’ve  _ yet _ to see you stress about anything - or study, for that matter.  How do you do it, Yuu-chan?  Your carefree attitude is too much.”

Nishinoya sat up quickly, a triumphant expression flooding his features.  “Well, since you  _ asked _ ,” he jumped to his feet, spinning to face Oikawa with a winning thumbs up.

“I take it back,” Oikawa droned.

“The secret,” Nishinoya acted as if Oikawa hadn’t spoken.  “Is to not think about future!”

“Oh?”  Oikawa pulled his book into his lap, opening it up to the last page he’d been highlighting, only half-listening.

“Yep,” Nishinoya sank back down, looking pleased with himself.  “When you stop worrying about tomorrow, today suddenly gets a lot more fun.”

At that, Oikawa couldn’t help but to blink, mild surprise flooding his raspberry chocolate eyes.  He was almost awestruck by the simplicity of the answer, and the unapologetic delivery of the line.  More than ever, Oikawa felt himself being dragged into the storm.

. . .

“Begin at once to live, and count each day as a separate life.”


	6. Live

“Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life.”

. . .

“Hey, hey, hey!”

Nishinoya choked on the sip of orange juice he was taking, spewing most of it across the counter as Bokuto slammed the front door of Oikawa’s apartment open.  “B-Bokuto?!”

“The one and-” the ace’s sentence fell off, his jaw dropping.  “Nishi… noya…?”

Despite himself, Nishinoya felt a furious blush creeping up his very exposed neck.  He was, after all, clad in nothing but his own snug underwear and one of Oikawa’s button up shirts, and it was nowhere near buttoned.

“It-”

“Hot  _ damn _ !”  Bokuto let out a whistle.  “Oikawa-kun surrre did a number on you!”  His golden eyes raked shamelessly across the trail of lingering bite marks.  Nishinoya felt a playful smirk tugging at his own lips, dropping his voice to a hushed murmur.

“If you think this is bad, you should see Tooru.”

Bokuto howled and gave the libero a solid high five.  “Nice kill!”

“Oi.”  Nishinoya started guiltily, turning to see an exceptionally pissy Oikawa Tooru leaning in the entryway to the kitchen.  “What, may I ask,” his tone was clipped, his cinnamon eyes passing coolly between Bokuto and Nishinoya, “the  _ fuck _ , are you yelling about?  At  _ seven in the morning _ ?”

Nishinoya sidestepped the question, holding up Oikawa’s favorite mug.  “I made coffee?”

“Tch.”  The setter took the offering as moodily as he could without splashing hot coffee all over the kitchen.  Nishinoya considered it a victory when Oikawa didn’t immediately spit it out.  “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.  “That coffee could have poured its damn self.”

“To be fair,” Nishinoya turned back to the eggs he was scrambling.  “It  _ is _ the first time I’ve ever made coffee.”

Taking another sip and swallowing it with a visible shudder.  Oikawa let his faces relax into a soft smile that seemed to be reserved only for Noya.  “I know,” he stepped closer, blocking Bokuto’s view with his back as he bent down and pressed a kiss to Nishinoya’s cheek.  “Thanks, Yuu-chan.”

“Pfft…!  You weren’t kidding!”  Nishinoya turned in time to see Oikawa’s fist connect with Bokuto’s abs, though the ace didn’t relinquish the hold he had on the back of Oikawa’s shirt.   _ Oops. _  He dumped his eggs onto a plate and sat at the small kitchen table, content to watch Oikawa try to strangle Bokuto with the dish towel he’d snatched off of the counter.

“Kidding about what?”  Kuroo yawned as he made his entrance.  He spotted the eggs on Nishinoya’s plate and let out an appreciative hum, moving to the fridge and pulling out another four eggs to cook for himself.

“Don’t worry about it!”  Oikawa spat, finally throwing Bokuto right over his shoulder and into the living room, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the exertion.

Kuroo frowned, “Easy, Shittykawa,” his eyes were critical behind his jet black fringe of bedhead.  “You’re going to throw your knee out if you’re not careful.”

“Thanks, mom.”  Tired again, Oikawa sank into the chair next to Nishinoya’s, fixing pleading brown eyes on the eggs on the libero’s plate.  “Yuu-chan~”

“As if,” Noya inhaled the last few bites of his breakfast.  “Make your own, Tooru.”

“So cold…” Oikawa made a show out of shivering.

Maybe Kuroo and Bokuto were a bad influence.  Nishinoya decided he didn’t mind it at all as he casually flicked his middle finger towards his more-or-less-boyfriend and padded easily back down the hall to retrieve his own clothes.

. . .

Nishinoya’s breath came out in short, sharp puffs as he ran.  Tanaka easily kept pace with him, his longer legs making the run much easier.  Nishinoya wasn’t envious as he had once been; he could never be the libero he was now had he grown any taller.  There was very little in his life he wasn’t content with.  He credited that to his “live in the moment” attitude.

“Time,” Tanaka rasped, his heavy footfalls slowing to a walk.  Nishinoya slowed a few steps later, taking the time to jump up and down in place and adjust his knee brace.  “You’ve gotten faster.”

“Good,” Noya wheezed.  “Bokuto misses as many spikes as he makes.”

Tanaka spluttered out an exhausted laugh.  “Sorry, man,” he patted Nishinoya’s shoulder firmly.  “What else is new though?  Did you really think he would change between high school and university?”

“Not at all,” Noya agreed with an easy smile.  He missed this - he missed his best friend.  They had received scholarships from different universities, and while they’d been brokenhearted over the fact for months, they decided to take their friendship up a notch into a mild rivalry, eagerly training together when they both had off-days in preparation for the coming fall preliminaries.

“Is something bothering you, Yuu?”

Noya cocked an eyebrow up.  “You mean besides the fact that I spend half of any given match chasing Bokuto’s blocked mega-powered spikes?”

“Yes,” Tanaka rolled his eyes, “besides that.”

“Well…”  Nishinoya shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his mind flicking briefly to the night prior.  “I guess,” he shrugged uncomfortably.  “I’m a little… confused.”

They fell into an easy walking pace, cooling down from their run.  “About…?”

“Tooru.”  The glint in his eyes suggested that Tanaka had expected that answer.  Nishinoya shook his head forcefully, “Not in the way you’re thinking.”

“Is there any other way?”  The spiker drawled, rolling his eyes.  “He’s never been anything but trouble-”

“We haven’t done it yet.”  Nishinoya fixed his friend with an unabashed gaze.

“D-Done it?  Done what?!”

“Don’t be immature,” Noya snickered, “You know what I mean.  We’ve come really close, but…”

Tanaka groaned into his hands.  “Yuu, I’m not sure I’m the person you want this kind of advice from.  In case you’d forgotten, I’m into girls.  Exclusively.  Only.”

“It’s not about gender,” Noya flared.  “I feel like he’s holding something back, or like he doesn’t even  _ want _ me.”

“Has he said he doesn’t?”  Tanaka’s eyes grew a little softer, as if he’d suddenly realized just how bothered his friend was.

“Well, no…”  Nishinoya’s ears warmed.  “And it certainly doesn’t  _ seem _ like he doesn’t.  But whenever it feels like it’s finally a possibility, he just…”  Noya made an indiscriminate gesture with a fluttering of his fingers.

Another sigh escaped Tanaka’s lips.  “Are you sure you’re  _ ready _ ?”

“Ready?”  Nishinoya didn’t even begin to try to hide the disbelief in his voice.

“Yes,” Tanaka insisted, his lips pursing.  “I mean, honestly, Nishinoya, do you even love him?”

Nishinoya sucked in a sharp breath, the cold air stabbing at his lungs.  Fear flooded his body, foreign and unwelcome - not because he didn’t know the answer, rather for how quickly it had almost rolled off of his tongue.

_ Yes. _

. . .

“Yuu-chan.”

Nishinoya shrugged on a clean shirt and threw his team jacket over top.  “I still can’t get over that last block, Kuroo - it felt like you just spiked it back over the net.”  The libero rubbed his forearm appreciatively.  “That’s definitely gonna bruise.”

Kuroo smirked up from his phone.  “Nothing makes me happier than blocking out Bokuto.”

“Yuu-chan~”

Bokuto groaned, letting his head hit his locker.  “Nothing depresses me more than getting blocked out by my  _ so called bro _ .”

Noya slapped the crestfallen ace across the back.  “That’s why you have me!”

“It’s hardly fair,” Kuroo added, pocketing his phone and straightening.  “The other teams aren’t even going to be able to score at the prelims.”

“It was a good idea to hold back in the practice matches,” Bokuto agreed, perking up as suddenly as he had slumped.  “Noya-kun, want to grab some food?  I owe you for that block-follow.”

“Yuu-chan…!”

“Sure,” Nishinoya let Bokuto throw his arm around his shoulders.

“I want to go,” Kuroo added, tagging along as they exited the locker room.  He took up Nishinoya’s other side, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning down a little with a devilish grin.  “You know he’s going to get pissy if you don’t answer him.”

“He’ll be okay,” Bokuto chirped.

_ Maybe so, but… _  Nishinoya felt a chill, like a stray raindrop slipping down his spine as Oikawa’s furious gaze smoldered into his back.

It wasn’t as if he was intentionally avoiding the setter - in fact he was probably more angry than Oikawa at this whole situation.  But there was a distinct weight in his chest, urgent and uncomfortable, whispering doubts through his veins with every beat of his heart.  The  _ what ifs _ haunted him, and for once the thought of speaking his mind made his tongue feel heavy and his jaw clench.  He was, for better or worse, in love with Oikawa.  With his cinnamon eyes and the similar spice that seemed to linger on his lips; his unpredictable moods and the way he smiled when he thought no one was watching.  He was in love with the side of Oikawa only he got to see, late at night while he iced his own knee and peppered Nishinoya’s with kisses.  The side that watched Area 51 documentaries while studying, glasses on and hair mussed.

_ I love you _ .  The words taunted him every time his eyes met Oikawa’s, and the fear of them slipping free was dizzying.

“You can’t avoid him forever you know.”  Bokuto’s voice drug Nishinoya to the present, and he heaved a sigh.

Kuroo nodded helpfully, “He’ll find a way to corner you eventually, Noya-kun.  What will you do then?”

And along with all of the other firsts that had flooded Nishinoya’s mind, for the first time he could remember, he wasn’t sure.

. . .

“Bring it!”  Nishinoya’s sharp eyes never left the ball.  He was ready.  He sidestepped and dropped into a lunge, puffing his cheeks out and angling his receive to send the ball straight to Oikawa.

“Nice receive!”  Bokuto hooted, practically jumping up and down in place as the ball arced to their setter.

Oikawa’s gaze flicked from one spiker to the next and swept across the opposing team’s set up.  He jumped, pushing the ball out and up.  “Bokuto!”

The blockers never stood a chance.

The buzzer went off.  For a moment, Noya couldn’t believe it was over.  The final score beamed at him from the board.

[25 - 14]

“ _ Yes _ !”  He ran full force at Bokuto, jumping at him with his arms and legs outstretched.  The owl hardly staggered beneath Noya’s slight weight, pumping his fists in the air while Kuroo threw his arms around both of them and set to destroying their carefully-styled hair.  The rest of the team followed, packing around them and slapping back, butts, and shoulders in congratulations.  With this win, they had blasted through last year’s rankings, promising challenging seeding at the upcoming tournament.

“Now, now,” Oikawa’s ‘scolding’ tone lacked any edge, a breathless smile playing about his lips.  “We’ve got to line up.”

The team agreed with laughter, slowly prying away from the sweaty bodies around them and lining up alongside their setter.  They thanked the other team, shook hands, and thanked the audience.  Their coach congratulated them heartily, encouraged them not to let up, and dismissed them to their bus.

“Race you to the bus!”  Bokuto jogged backwards in front of Kuroo and Oikawa.

“Aren’t you…”

“You’re on!”  Noya shot past the older players, aware of Bokuto’s hoot and his heavy footsteps behind him.  He half-expected Oikawa to grab him as he ran past - the setter had done it before, after all.  But he turned to Kuroo, asking about the last ball he’d set to the middle blocker.   _ Tch. _  Nishinoya put on speed.  Even with his long legs, there was no way Bokuto could beat him.   _ Like you have any right to be mad!  You’re the one that started avoiding him! _

His heart throbbed.   _ I never expected for his response to be ignoring me, as well… _

“Noya!”

Something caught around his neck, cutting his breath short and halting his momentum so suddenly he choked.   _ My shirt?! _  The libero blinked.  The bus was hardly fifteen centimeters from his face.

“So… fast…”  Bokuto wheezed as he let go of the back of Nishinoya’s shirt.  “I thought you… were going to hit it…”

“S-sorry,” he laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I got lost in thought I guess.”  His chest hurt and his knee ached horribly.  Without waiting for any kind of reply, he climbed into the bus, finding the seat with the most direct blast of AC and sinking into it with his head against the window.  His teammates boarded more slowly, falling more or less into the seats they’d chosen on the way to the game.  The seat beside Nishinoya’s shifted, announcing the presence of one of his teammates - probably Bokuto, also after the air conditioning.  He lifted his head, about to ask the ace a question, but the words fizzled off of his tongue when he saw not the silver-and-black haired spiker, but Oikawa in the seat beside his own.

The setter only glanced at him, though, his brown eyes cool to the point of indifference even as his hand settled on Nishinoya’s knee.  “You’re not running away, this time.”

. . .

Truer words had never been spoken.  When the bus stopped, Oikawa stayed seated, letting every other person off before finally standing, catching Nishinoya’s wrist before the shorter boy could scoot past.  His grip didn’t waver - not through the coach’s announcement that they’d have the next day off, not through dismissal, and it  _ certainly _ didn’t give when they left the gym.

“My dorm is the other way,” Noya muttered lamely.  He wasn’t stupid, he knew Oikawa wasn’t going to bring him back to his dorm.  “Kenma will be worried about me.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.”  Oikawa’s clipped tone made Noya wince.  He didn’t object again as he was drug off campus and down the road towards the setter’s apartment.  Nishinoya couldn’t help but to notice that Kuroo didn’t join him.  And neither did Bokuto.

_ Shit. _

. . .

Oikawa used his hold on Nishinoya’s wrist to thrust the libero ahead of him into the apartment.  Noya couldn’t do much but sigh as he heard the definitive  _ click _ of the lock behind them.  He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what happened next.  Oikawa’s hand fell on his shoulder, turning him abruptly.  Before he could even open his mouth, Oikawa had bent easily over him, his hands ghosting down his back before landing firmly on the backs of his thighs.  He lifted Noya easily to his hips, his stony expression unchanging as he carried him through the spacious apartment.

“W-wait-”

Oikawa shouldered his bedroom door aside and continued to the ensuite bathroom.

“Where-”

Nishinoya blinked, his eyes stretching wide as he found himself deposited on the bathroom counter, his back to the large mirror.

“Oik-”

The setter’s hand fell to his good knee, fingers clenching around the knee pad and joint.

“Ouch!”  Nishinoya’s leg jerked up in an immediate response to the burning pain that followed - no doubt his knee was burnt raw from all of the slides he’d made in the two games they’d played.  As if that had been answer enough, Oikawa opened a drawer and pulled a bottle of disinfectant out.  “You don’t…”

Cinnamon eyes snapped down to meet his own wide-eyed gaze.  “Shut up.”  Nishinoya clenched his teeth, preparing himself.  But Oikawa’s touch turned unexpectedly gentle as he peeled the knee pad loose, letting it fall around Noya’s ankle.  He let his gaze fall to the reddened skin, still-damp hair hiding his face.  “I did something, didn’t I?  To make you angry?”

_ What...? _  Noya’s mouth went dry.  Oikawa showed the same tender care as he pulled the brace to his other ankle, his shoulders tensing when Nishinoya let out a faint hiss of pain.  “That’s not…”  Noya’s fingers clutched at the countertop.  Oikawa washed his hands and dried them before opened the antiseptic.  He didn’t say anything else as he let out a small amount, dripping it onto the top of his knee and letting it run its own course down the raw skin.  “Tooru…”

Oikawa lifted his head, but Nishinoya didn’t let him speak.  He lurched forward and slammed their lips together, only to break off into a muted yelp as the motion tilted the bottle of antiseptic, dowsing his entire leg in one go.  Despite the sting, despite the situation that brought them to this moment, Nishinoya laughed.  With shaking hands, he took the bottle from Oikawa, setting it aside before fisting both hands in the setter’s jersey and trying again.  And again, and again.  He smiled into the kisses, each growing more fervent than the last, his heart fluttering and his whole body tingling with warmth.  His emotions churned like the sea within his veins, crashing through his body with every unsteady beat of his heart until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I love you.”

. . .

 

“Love in its essence is a spiritual fire.”


	7. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo I was actually planning on updating "In the Words of a Poet" but, well... you know. Anyway - do remember that this IS rated M for sMut.  
> Enjoy!

“Love in its essence is a spiritual fire.”

. . .

At once, the breath left Oikawa’s body.  His heart seemed to have stopped beating, his jaw slightly slack as his mind tried to make sense of the words that had been uttered against his lips.   _Love._  “Yuu…”

It hit him suddenly, without warning: the sincerity, the feeling, the way Nishinoya’s body fit so perfectly against his own in that moment, the sparks that skittered between them and created a warmth so perfect and unique to them that it made him forget that the rest of the world even existed.   _Is that what it is?_  His heart kicked back into gear with a vengeance, and it was all Oikawa could do to throw his arms around the boy sitting on his bathroom counter, claiming his lips in a desperate kiss.  His hands slid down Nishinoya’s back, to his hips, lingering there for a few moments before gliding down his thighs.  As if reading his mind, Nishinoya let his legs come apart, pulling Oikawa closer by the grip he still had on the front of his shirt.  A muffled sound escaped Nishinoya’s lips as the angle of their kiss changed and Oikawa’s hips met his own.

“Tooru,” Nishinoya gave another firm tug, less forward, more upward.  He didn't have to ask twice.  Oikawa pulled back, relinquishing his grip on Nishinoya’s legs to jerk his shirt up and over his head.  The offensive piece of clothing had barely been discarded when their lips met again.  The libero hummed appreciatively as his hands traveled the skin revealed to him.  Oikawa raked his fingers through Nishinoya’s hair, trying vainly to bring it out of the upward styling.  He huffed at the residue - a mix of leftover gel and sweat - the action left on his fingers.

With a click of his tongue, Oikawa withdrew again, biting his lip when he managed to get a better look at Nishinoya.  His legs were spread, sable eyes peeking up at him through his pretty lashes, hair and shirt equally disheveled and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.  The image alone was enough to drag a groan from the depths of Oikawa’s chest.  With more self-control than he’d ever exercised in his entire life, the setter took a step back and turned around.

“We should shower,” he choked out.  He heard a puff behind him, and the feather-light impact of Nishinoya’s feet hitting the floor.  He must have lost his balance, because one hand fetched up on Oikawa’s lower back.

“You’re,” Oikawa could feel the quivering through the palm against his shoulder blade, “probably right.”

Oikawa turned the water on, closing his eyes and counting backwards from one hundred in threes.  He could hear indistinct rustling, but he didn’t dare open his eyes until he could hear the disruption in the water coming from the shower.

“Tooru…”

A tremor of heat shot straight down Oikawa’s spine and to his steadily rising erection.  He finally allowed himself to lift his gaze.  Nishinoya stood beneath the spray of water with a lopsided smirk on his lips, the flecks of auburn in his eyes smoldering like embers, glimmering with all of the challenge and spirit in his heart.  Oikawa thanked every god he could think of off the top of his head for that moment, for that smile.

“Are you just going to stand there, or…?”

Oikawa hooked his thumbs in his pants and pulled everything down in one fell swoop.  “I’m not,” he assured his libero.  “Not if my life depended on it.”

. . .

Nishinoya’s chest heaved, his entire body quivering beneath Oikawa’s careful hands.  “Tooru,” his fingers pulled through the setter’s hair.  “Hurry…”

“You’re always impatient,” Oikawa tutted.  Still, he added a second finger to the first, his tongue poking out in concentration as he stretched Nishinoya.  The libero lay on his back, propped on his elbows with his legs splayed open, watching Oikawa’s every move through lascivious umber eyes.  He nibbled at his lip, occasionally letting it slip free of his teeth in favor of letting out a breathy moan, like the one that pulled from his throat when Oikawa curled his fingers dangerously close to Nishinoya’s prostate.  “Are you ready for the third?”

“Third?”  Nishinoya let his head fall back.  “Isn’t - haa - two enough?”  His thighs jerked when Oikawa pushed a little deeper, a little faster.

In way of answering, Oikawa removed his fingers, drizzling more lube over the first through third before easing them back in.

“Nn…”  Nishinoya squirmed, his eyes shutting tightly.  Oikawa made up for the discomfort quickly, wrapping his free hand against Nishinoya’s untouched erection.  His eyes flew open again, before falling half-lidded to meet Oikawa’s mischievous gaze.

“It gets better,” he cooed, smirking as he smeared the beads of precum down Nishinoya’s shaft.  “I promise.  Bear it a little longer.”  He started thrusting his fingers slowly, out and in, stroking in time with the gentle movement.  When Nishinoya’s hips jerked a little, rocking into the motion, Oikawa picked up the pace, scissoring his fingers slightly before curling them again.  He knew as soon as he found what he was looking for.  Noya’s hips shot up, a choked sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan falling from his lips.

“There,” his fists clenched in the sheets, his muscles rippling as a shudder wracked through him.  “Tooru…!”

“I know,” Oikawa purred.  He pressed a kiss to the inside of Nishinoya’s thigh, licking the tender skin before claiming it with his teeth.  Noya’s moans and whines pitched up as Oikawa picked up the pace, relentlessly massaging that bundles of nerves.  “Yuu,” the setter hummed against the trail of hickeys he’d left along the inside of Noya’s thigh.  “You’re so good, you know that?”  The quiet praise set a shudder through Nishinoya’s pliant body.

“F-fuck,” his back arched up off the sheets, his muscles all but spasming as a lewd string of curses followed the first.  “Tooru, I can’t…!”

“You can,” Oikawa nuzzled the libero’s inner thigh, gently nudging his legs a little more open, changing the angle _just so_.  With a choked scream, Nishinoya came, Tooru’s name purling off of his lips like a plea and a prayer as the orgasm rocked through his body.  Oikawa pressed one last, lingering kiss to his hip before leaning up again, bringing their lips together.  There was less urgency in the motion as Nishinoya recovered, his breath short and his eyes heavy and content.  Nishinoya never was one to be down long though.  He brought his hands up and raked his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, the challenging fire returning to his eyes.  Before Oikawa could comment on it, the libero surged upwards, throwing his momentum to the side and flipping their positions, his hair falling around their faces as he deepened the once-innocent kiss.

“I want more,” he exhaled, already half-hard again as his hips rocked against Oikawa’s.  A soft groan broke Oikawa’s defences when their erections slipped against each other, the mess on Nishinoya’s belly making the contact slick and obscene.

“Are you sure?”  Oikawa propped himself on one elbow, bringing the other hand to trace Noya’s cheek.  The libero’s answer was to grab the bottle of lube, opening it with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and pouring a generous amount on his hand.  “Be sure to-” Oikawa bit off his sentence with a startled sound, letting his breath out through clenched teeth.  “Warm it up first…”  He finished too little too late as Nishinoya rubbed the cool lubricant down his throbbing cock.

The younger closed one eye and offered an apologetic smile.  “Oops.”  He leaned down, blowing a hot breath across the tip in an effort to take some of the edge off of the chill.  “Better?”

“Can’t complain,” Tooru watched appreciatively as Nishinoya stroked him.  “That’s good,” he hummed, starting to sit up, “I’ll-”

One palm landed on his chest, pushing him firmly back against the pillows.  “No.  This...” Noya bit his lip, as if struggling to find the words.  “Let me.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as Nishinoya adjusted himself carefully above him, balancing his weight with the hand on Oikawa’s chest and using the other to line the setter’s cock up with his already-stretched entrance.  Slowly, shakily, the libero started lowering himself.  His mouth fell open as Oikawa’s tip penetrated him, and Tooru promptly forgot how to breathe.  His hands flew to Nishinoya’s hips, gripping tightly and helping hold his slight weight as his body was stretched further.

“That’s it,” Oikawa half-murmured, half-moaned.  “That’s it… almost…”

Nishinoya closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and with a harsh exhale, pushed himself onto the remainder of Oikawa’s length, pulling a loud moan from the bottom of his throat.  Nishinoya let his head drop against Tooru’s shoulder.

“Yuu,” he brought one hand up to comb through Nishinoya’s sweaty hair.  “Take your time.”

The moment that stretched between them then was simultaneously too long and too short.  Oikawa was convinced that he would have died in that span of heartbeats and been completely thrilled.

And then Nishinoya rolled his hips, and he decided he was much, _much_ happier to be alive.  They moaned in unison, their grips on each other tightening.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Oikawa met the next roll of Nishinoya’s hips with a shallow thrust, drawing a long, low keen from his lover’s chest.  “God, Yuu…”  He could feel Nishinoya’s nails in his hair and on his chest, every sound he made added to the heat building between them.  Noya set the pace, slow at first, but gradually adding both volume and momentum.  Oikawa gripped his hips again.  “Angle,” he puffed.  “Lean back - just a little…”

“ _Oh_ ,” Nishinoya’s eyes glazed, a shiver rippling straight down his spine.

“Perfect,” Oikawa steadied his partner, holding his hips still as he adjusted his own position to thrust directly into Nishinoya’s already-stimulated prostate.  “You’re perfect, Yuu.”

His name rolled from Noya’s tongue like a mantra, and it didn’t take long for his soft voice and quivering body to bring Oikawa to the edge.  He came hard inside the heat of Noya’s body, murmuring against his libero’s neck and showering him with sweet kisses as he rode out his orgasm and used his hand to ease Nishinoya through his second.  The collapsed together, limbs tangled and hearts pounding.

When he finally felt he could move again, Oikawa turned to his side, easing out of Nishinoya and sliding his exhausted partner off of him.  “Stay still,” he urged quietly, slipping as carefully as he could out of his bed.  “I’ll clean up.”  The setter hummed to himself as he padded to the bathroom, soaking a hand towel in warm water and returning to his bedroom.  Nishinoya hadn’t moved, but his eyes had fluttered open again, warm and content.

“Hey,” Nishinoya murmured.

“Hey yourself,” Oikawa flashed a soft smile, wiping them clean and tossing the damp towel aside.  Nishinoya grabbed at his hands, tugging him back into bed and curling against his side.  Oikawa wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, nuzzling into his silky hair.  “Yuu,” he whispered, “Say it again.”

“It…?”  Noya muffled a yawn against Oikawa’s chest.  “What’s that?”

“You know,” he traced the curve of Nishinoya’s spine with his fingertips.  “What you said before.”

He felt the libero’s lips curve into a sleepy smile.  “That I love you?”

“Yes,” Oikawa pulled the blankets more tightly around them, his heart fluttering.

“I love you, Tooru.”

 _Love_.  Again, like lightning, the statement sent a flash of nearly unbearable heat through Oikawa’s body.  He smiled.  “I love you, too, Yuu-chan.”

. . .

Oikawa woke feeling more rested than he could ever remember being.  There was a warmth pressed against his side, slow, steady breaths blowing across his collarbones as Nishinoya slept with his head pillowed on Oikawa’s shoulder.  A sort of giddiness bubbled up in Oikawa’s chest, so strong that it was all he could to to turn on his side and throw his arm around the boy sleeping beside him, pulling him impossibly closer and burying his face into silky black hair.  The scent of his own shampoo lingered there.  Remembering that they had been given the day off, it didn’t take long for Oikawa to let sleep claim him again, unable to think of a better way to spend his morning.   _I love this.  I love him._

. . .

The second time he woke, there was a distinctive chill in the air.  He sat up with a frown, listening for any sign of Nishinoya’s whereabouts.  It came in the sound of Bokuto’s obnoxious laughter.   _For the love of God._  Oikawa pushed himself out of bed and into the closet, pulling on a pair of underwear and pajama pants before stalking out of his bedroom, ready to unleash hell on his ace for drawing Nishinoya away from him.

“I’m not!”

“You are,” Bokuto hooted.  “Kuroo, tell him _please_.”

“Tell him _what_?”  Oikawa crossed his arms as he leaned in the entryway of the kitchen.  Noya spun to face him immediately, his cheeks puffed out.

“Bokuto thinks I’m limping!”

Oikawa lifted one brow incredulously.  “And you honestly think you’re not?”

Kuroo doubled over, leaning on Bokuto as the owl-ace screeched in laughter.

“Whose side are you on?!”

Instead of answering, Oikawa grabbed Nishinoya’s shirt - _his_ shirt, actually - and pulled him in for a kiss.  “Good morning, Yuu-chan.”

Nishinoya beamed up at him, meeting him halfway for another chaste brush of their lips.  “‘Morning, Tooru.”

Kuroo made a face, and playful banter filled the kitchen as Oikawa made his first cup of coffee.  Bokuto begged for a running mate, and despite his (obvious) limp, Nishinoya volunteered.  Kuroo grumbled something about studying, and Oikawa took the chance to slip away to the cafe.

Iwaizumi was working, a sigh passing his lips as the setter strolled in.

“Trashykawa,” he frowned.  “You look…”

“Like garbarge?”  Oikawa guessed.

Iwaizumi shook his head, though, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips.  “No.  Happy.  Hold on, I’m about to go on break.”

They sat at their usual table by the window, with their usual drinks.

“Love, huh?”  Iwaizumi mused after hearing out Oikawa’s tirade.

“Mhm.”  The setter let his eyes trail to the window, watching the people pass on the street with the sort of arrogance that only comes to a person when they know that there wasn’t a person alive that could be as happy as them.  “Perfect, Iwa-chan.  Life is perfect right now.”

. . .

“A happy life is one which is in accordance with its own nature.”


	8. Accordance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am so sorry about how long it took for me to get this update out here. Blah blah personal life excuses, long story short - I'm back and plan on spending all day today working on this series, so look forward to some (hopefully) kickass updates!
> 
> Thanks for reading, enjoy!

“A happy life is one which is in accordance with its own nature.”

. . .

Nishinoya fell back with a groan.  “Spaghetti.”

“What?”  Bokuto lifted his head, owlish brows furrowed.

“Spaghetti,” the libero repeated.  “My legs… arms…” Tired snickers echoed around the gym.  He wasn’t the only one. Since making it through qualifying, their team had practiced nearly nonstop.  Noya heaved himself into a sitting position again. The rest of the team lay around him, trying to catch their breath before cleaning and dismissing.  Kuroo was the first one up, rubbing his thighs and stretching a little.

“Kuro-chan,” Oikawa stuck one hand up, reaching for the middle blocker’s fingers.  “Help me…”

Kuroo reached over their setter to grab the hand Bokuto stuck up.  “Bros before hoes.”

Noya coughed out a laugh while Oikawa sat up quickly with an exclamation of, “Mean!”

“See, look, you were fine all along.”  Kuroo grinned. Oikawa stuck his tongue out.  They gathered in a loose circle and stretched in an amiable quiet.

“Coach has seemed… different lately.”  One of the third years frowned, drawing the team’s attention to their coach as he answered his phone and promptly exited the gymnasium.

“Distracted,” another second year agreed with a nod.

Bokuto blinked at the gym door as it closed.  “Wonder why.”

“Who knows,” Kuroo shrugged.  “We do have a pretty big tournament coming up, I’m sure that means a lot of work for him.”

“For us, too,” Noya couldn’t keep the eager edge out of his voice.  “Did you see that he scheduled us for three practice matches next Saturday?”

“Why do you sound so excited?”  One of the first year’s sighed.

Oikawa hummed, “Don’t you know?  Yuu-chan is a masochist~”

“Tooru,” Nishinoya let out an exaggerated whine.  “You promised not to tell…”

Laughter rippled through the team, followed by easy chatter.  When they’d finished their cool downs, they made for the locker room.

“Now,” Kuroo peeled his shirt off and tossed it towards his locker.  Unsurprisingly, it landed on Bokuto’s head. The ace let out a squawk of mingled surprise and disgust as he started thrashing about.  “Show me that schedule, Noya.”

“It’s on the coach’s desk,” Nishinoya bounced into the office, aware of Oikawa trailing curiously after them.  For as organized as their practices were, the coach’s desk was a disaster zone. It was only after a few minutes of all three of them curiously scuffling through papers that the schedule for next week resurfaced.

“Hm.” Oikawa grew quiet.  “I’m not surprised about the first two, I expected we would have a match with them before the tournament began.”

“Tanaka goes to that university,” Nishinoya announced proudly, pointing out the first on the schedule.  “It’ll be our first time meeting on opposite sides of the net.”

“You still talk, right?”  Kuroo inquired idly. “Kenma mentioned him visiting your dorm not long ago.”

“Mhm,” the libero nodded energetically.  “We run together at least once a week. He’s their ace-in-training right now.  The current ace adores him…” Nishinoya’s praise trailed off, his gaze flicking curiously back to Oikawa.  The setter’s expression was changing slowly from one of confusion to one of mild horror. Noya stretched a hand to Oikawa’s shoulder.  “Tooru…?”

“Shi…”

“Shi?”  Kuroo leaned closer, looking at the schedule again.

“Shira…”

Noya stood on his tiptoes, straining to get a peek.  “Shira-what?”

“Our third match…” Oikawa’s grip on the piece of paper tightened.  “Isn’t against another university, it’s…”

“Oh.”  Kuroo’s eyes widened.  “ _ Oh _ .”

“Oh?  Oh what?”  Noya snatched the paper out of Oikawa’s hands, umber eyes skimming the information he’d already read and skipping to what seemed to have shaken their setter so much.   _ Oh. _

“Our third match is against Shiratorizawa.”

. . .

Nishinoya had to admit that he was relatively confused.  Sure, Shiratorizawa was a little out of left field, and a little bit out of their district as far as practice matches went, but then again, Kurasuno had attended training camps in Tokyo.

Then again, he rationalized, being in the same prefecture, he was probably the only member of his team that knew how common it was for Shiratorizawa to branch into practice matches with nearby universities.  Even that explanation seemed to do little to revive Oikawa from his PTSD-like daze.

“I just don’t get it,” he finally groaned, letting his forehead drop onto his desk.  Kenma’s eyes darted to the side at the sound, then back to the TV screen. Assuming that meant he was listening, Noya went on, “It’s not like we really have anything to fear from them now - Ushijima is long gone to the national team.”

“But their current team would still have members that played with him…” Kenma pointed out flatly.  “And… from what Kuroo’s said Oikawa doesn’t like anyone that associated with Ushijima.”

“Hm.” Noya abandoned his homework, sliding out of his chair in favor of sitting beside Kenma on the floor across from the TV.  “I guess there was that one spiker. It seemed like he idolized Ushijima.” Noya tried to remember his name, but could only call to mind the spiker’s blue-black bowl cut.  “His hair was really particularly styled.”

“You’re one to talk.”  Kenma lifted his hand to casually flick at Nishinoya’s bangs, still damp from his shower and hanging loose across his forehead.  Before he could retort, Kenma sighed. “What’s more… I guess their setter was offered a scholarship…”

“Their setter?”  Noya sat up a little straighter.  “I don’t remember a first year setter…”

“Last year.”

Nishinoya immediately recalled the asymmetrical bangs of Shiratorizawa’s starting setter.  “Eh? Him? But he…”  _ He’s no Tooru, _ he wanted to say.  But he bit his tongue.  Their playing styles were definitely different, so much so it was hard to see them playing the same position.  But there was no denying the talent that the level-headed setter possessed, ignoring Tsukishima’s taunts and remaining collected even when the lead was taken from them.  Kenma lifted one shoulder in a semblance of a shrug, and Noya recognized that his roommate was tired already.  _ Three complete sentences. _  Noya leaned to his desk, snatching his phone off of it and shooting Kuroo a message, bragging about his new record in their ongoing game of ‘how much can you get Kenma to talk in one sitting.’

_ Regardless, _ Noya sighed and leaned back.   _ He’s in our year.  Even if he  _ was _ offered a scholarship, he clearly refused it. _  The libero was suddenly antsy.   _ The sooner we get this practice match with Shiratorizawa out of the way, the better. _

. . .

**[10:12]**

Nishinoya could hardly keep still as his literature professor shut down his laptop, dismissing them half an hour early so he could attend a meeting.  “That’s all, you may leave.”

The libero was out the door before the professor, leaving Kenma to sigh heavily and trail after him.   _ If I hurry… _  He took the stairs three at a time, using every bit of muscle and skill he’d developed through volleyball to keep his balance.  He jumped the last flight of ten, rolling out of the landing and springing to his feet. He smirked victoriously as his vibrant eyes caught a tuft of messy black hair.   _ There! _

“ToORU!!!”

Kuroo spun around, choking on the bagel he’d been chewing on.  Oikawa tossed a curious glance over his shoulder, cinnamon eyes shooting wide at the sight that greeted him.  He barely turned in time, letting out an undignified sound as Nishinoya’s pounce brought him crashing into his lover’s arms, his legs wrapping around Oikawa’s hips and his arms flung around his shoulders.  The setter staggered beneath the impact, but held his ground, his hands coming to the backs of Noya's thighs to help support his weight.

“Nice receive,” Noya smiled breathlessly, pushing his forehead against Oikawa’s.

“Moron,” Tooru tried - unsuccessfully - to press his lips into a frown.  Instead a smile split his features. “Did your lit lecture end early?”

“Mhm.”  Nishinoya unwrapped himself, letting his boyfriend deposit him on the floor again.  Girls were giggling, their cheeks flushed as they watched Oikawa bend and press sweet kiss to Noya’s forehead.  “Kenma’s probably only halfway down the stairs.”

Kuroo snorted, giving up finally and just throwing the remainder of his breakfast away.  “I’m going on ahead. See you at practice later, Noya-kun.”

“See ya,” Noya turned back to Oikawa.  “Want to get lunch?”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, “Didn’t you  _ just _ eat breakfast?”  Without giving Noya time to answer, he leaned in again, pecking his libero on the lips.  “Yeah, I’ll meet you at the dining hall.”

Nishinoya pressed back a little more urgently, stealing two more kisses before Oikawa straightened again.  “Love you, Tooru.”

Oikawa shaped his hands into a heart as he walked backwards down the hall.  “Love you, more, Yuu-chan!”

A girl presumably passed out, one hand over her scarlet cheeks as she sank against her friend, who looked like she was torn between trying to take a picture and trying to savor every bit of the moment.  Noya dropped a wink at them before catching Kenma at the bottom of the stairs.

“Just looking at you tires me out…”  The quiet teen sighed, not even looking up from his phone as Noya fell in step beside him.

“But you’re not looking at me.”

“Because I’m already tired…  If I looked, I’d probably want to take a nap.”

Noya laughed openly.  “You want to do that anyway.”  He pulled his own phone from his pocket, checking the time.  “Hey,” he went on, changing the subject. “You should come to the practice matches tomorrow.”

Kenma’s golden eyes flicked down curiously.  “Because of Shiratorizawa…?”

“Sort of.”  Noya rubbed the back of his neck.  “Tooru’s been tense all week, and practice has been strained.  I think there’s something bothering him, but he won’t say a word about it.”

“Hm.”

“I’ll buy you that new game you were looking at~”

Again, his eyes snapped to the side.  “When does the first game start…?”

. . .

Never one for formalities, as soon as the bus doors opened, Nishinoya was in motion.  “RYU!”

Tanaka erupted from the bus.  “NOYA!!”

They slammed into a hug between the bus and the school’s front gates.  Their coaches laughed, and more proper greetings followed.

“I have to admit, Noya, your team build is just plain scary.”  His eyes skimmed the second years, lingering on Bokuto. “I still remember our practice match against Fukurodani at training camp - he’s your ace, right?”

“Yeah,” Nishinoya grinned.  “But I think you should worry less about Bokuto and worry more about Kuroo.  There’s nothing he loves more than blocking out powerful spikes.” As if sensing that they were talking about him, Kuroo prowled over, throwing his arm around Noya’s shoulders.

“It’s been a while,” he drawled slyly, “I heard you’re after the ace title.”

“I am,” Tanaka puffed his chest out.  “And I’ll get it, too.”

“We’ll see,” Kuroo leaned a little closer.  “After all, an ace should be able to blast through any block, right…?”

_ Uh oh. _  Noya tried to hold back his laughter.  He could  _ feel _ Tanaka getting fired up.

“Alright, to the gym,” their coach clapped, and the teams separated to jog to the gym.  Spectators had already gathered - most of which Nishinoya recognized as being girls in his classes or Oikawa’s.  As if it were the tournament, their warm-ups were timed, and a short whistle blow brought the captains together to shake hands.  Nishinoya licked his lips, bouncing lightly in place in anticipation. Another whistle, line ups, greetings.

“As always,” Oikawa turned to them with a dangerous smile, the challenge in his eyes bringing a fire to every member of his team.  “I believe in you.”

Nishinoya bent his legs, exhaling slowly and fixing his eyes on the other side.  Oikawa had elected to receive - he knew what that meant.

“Nice serve!”  Tanaka cheered on his captain.  Nishinoya locked eyes with the ace and server.

“Bring it!”

. . .

Even if only barely, they managed to win both sets, earning fervent cheers from their classmates and supporters.  Nishinoya shook Tanaka’s hand firmly.

“It was good to play with you again,” he admitted honestly.  “I can’t wait to see you again at the tournament.”

“Right back at you, Noya,” Taka gripped his hand a little harder.  “I’m going to get a service ace on you. Just you wait.”

“You can try.”

Their next opponents arrived as Tanaka’s team we loading the bus.  It was another good match, but Nishinoya could still feel the buzz of victory singing in his veins, and knew his teammates would feel the same.  The other team didn’t stand a chance.

Shiratorizawa, on the other hand, stole the first set of their practice match right under their nose.  The made a quick comeback, powering through the second set with Bokuto’s blistering cutshots and Kuroo’s fiendish delays.

Exhausted from the two previous matches, it was only by a miracle that Nishinoya had it in him to make the jump for a libero-setup, tumbling back as he landed and watching with his breath lodged in his throat as Bokuto just barely brushed the ball over the blocker’s hands in a feint.  The whistle blew. Noya let his head fall back against the gym floor.

_ Well now I know what I need to work on. _  He opened his eyes when he felt something hovering above him, cracking an apologetic grin as Bokuto when he recognized his spiky silver and black hair.  “That was an awful toss,” he croaked. “Sorry.” Bokuto pulled him to his feet and slapped a hand across his shoulder.

“Don’t mind, Noya-kun.”

The libero sought out Oikawa, hoping - praying, even - that with this victory, the tension would finally leave his shoulders.  But the setter looked more tense than ever, his fists clenched and his eyes locked on something on the sidelines. Shooting a curious glance at Bokuto, Noya jogged to Oikawa’s side.

“Hey, Tooru…”  His voice failed him as their coach approached, a startlingly familiar figure at his side.   _ Is that…?! _

“Well played,” their coach beamed.  “I know it was a stress on your stamina, but I’m proud of how you handled it.  Look forward to more intensive endurance training going forward.”

Oikawa narrowed his eyes.  “Coach.”

“Ah, yes.”  He rubbed his hands together.  “I’m sure you all were wondering about why we scheduled a match with Shiratorizawa in the first place.”  He beckoned the teen with him forward. “This is Shirabu Kenjirou. Though he had initially turned down my scholarship offer, a change in his academic interest has brought him here after all.  Oikawa-kun.”

Noya sucked in a sharp breath, watching as Oikawa’s fingers clenched into fists at his sides.  “Yes, sir?” His voice was cold, his smile forced.

“Shirabu-kun will be joined us as your junior and as your reserve setter.  I’m entrusting him to you, be sure to teach him everything you know.”

At that, Shirabu dropped into a stiff half-bow.  “I look forward to learning from you, Oikawa-senpai.”

Oikawa didn’t move.  Kuroo coughed, then took charge as the vice-captain, stepping forward and ruffling Shirabu’s sleek asymmetrical hair.  “Welcome aboard, Shirabu-kun.”

. . .

“A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials.”


End file.
